


A King for Midsummer

by CrazygurlMadness (DoYouCeeEmNow), DoYouCeeEmNow



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cliches Galore, Collaboration, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-10 18:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20532755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYouCeeEmNow/pseuds/CrazygurlMadness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYouCeeEmNow/pseuds/DoYouCeeEmNow
Summary: “Ugh.” Link rubbed his aching head as he surveyed his surroundings. He was lying on a sandy shore a short distance from a grove of palm trees. Further away, the shore curved around the peak of a hill. He looked over his shoulder: he could see the glint of the sea through the trees. Definitely a deserted tropical island.“Damn,” he muttered. “It’s just like that gypsy woman said it would be.”In this sequel toA Princess for Midwinter, everyone in Hyrule knows about the magical love story between a queen and a gardener. Wedding bells are tolling, and theirs will be the wedding of the century… Assuming it happens. Warning: tiki drinks, beach volleyball, sneaky spies, and over-the-top conspiracies abound.Or, CM and Lyxie are at it again and you can't stop us.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last winter, when we took the world by storm with _A Princess for Midwinter_, we joked about writing a sequel.
> 
> WELL, WAIT NO MORE.
> 
> **CM:** I should be working… But I can’t focus on anything.  
**Lyx:** Can you pat your soft bunnies on their smol perfect earsies? OR START WRITING DOWN IDEAS FOR MIDSUMMER  
**CM:** Hell yeah. Only, what’s the main conflict?  
**Lyx:** We COULD steal directly from [REDACTED] and have it be [REDACTED]. But I think that’s a little too lazy, even for us.  
**CM:** My first instinct was, oh god, not that tropey mess! And then I remembered what we’re doing here. At this stage, if we don’t do it, it’s a disservice to our audience.  
**Lyx:** This is going to be a disaster. I can NOT fucking wait.  
**CM:** We should probably open with something like…

It was the cry of a seagull that startled Link awake out of his drunken stupor.

Immediately, his eyes shot open, and he was blinded by the sun. All at once, his senses kicked in: the rough sand inside his bathing trunks, coarse and getting everywhere, the painful brightness of the ocean, the pounding of his head…

And the alarming realization that he seemed stuck on a deserted tropical island. 

“Ugh.” Link rubbed his aching head as he surveyed his surroundings. He was lying on a sandy shore a short distance from a grove of palm trees. Further away, the shore curved around the peak of a hill. He looked over his shoulder: he could see the glint of the sea through the trees. Definitely a deserted tropical island.

“Damn,” he muttered. “It’s just like that gypsy woman said it would be.” He supposed he should have been surprised, but really, after everything that had already happened, an accurate prophecy from a wizened little fortune teller seemed utterly probable.

Link pushed himself to his feet, swaying blearily. He took inventory: he was wearing an oversized T-shirt emblazoned with rainbows, and an unfamiliar pair of swim trunks, hideously purple with… were those fairies on the butt? It didn’t matter. He had no phone. No panic button. Nearby, a battered little boat rested against the rocks, splintered and almost certainly not seaworthy.

What was the last thing he could remember? Link cast back through the fog. He remembered a bobbing party barge throbbing with music, and a number of drinks served to him in containers carved into amusing little head shapes. He remembered thinking that one tasted a little off… had he been drugged?

The thought of Zelda sent a jolt of panic through Link’s senses. He wobbled for a moment, then sank back down to sit on the sand and hung his aching head in his hands. He’d been drugged and stranded on a deserted island. Judging by the splintered boat on the shore, someone was trying to set him up to look like an irresponsible, untrustworthy drunk. The optics for Zelda would be horrible.

He wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she didn’t want to marry him anymore after this was all over. After everything else that had happened in the past two weeks, she’d be well within her rights to call it off…

But no. He wasn’t going to give her up without a fight.

Link straightened up and looked around. He needed a way off this island. He needed to get back to Zelda. And he needed to make things—everything—right with her.

Moving slowly, Link pushed himself back to his feet and began to weave his faltering way into the forest.

* * *

TWO WEEKS AGO

* * *

“Wake up. There’s bad news.”

Link was rudely awoken by the slap of a newspaper in his face. Curled against his side, Zelda groaned.

“Midna,” she moaned, burying her face in Link’s rib. “It’s too early.”

“Bad publicity doesn’t wait. Look at this.”

Link pushed himself up on his elbows as Midna moved around the bedroom, turning on lights. The bedroom of the apartment he and Zelda shared in Hyrule Castle was a private sanctuary: the only people allowed in were Zelda’s personal maid, a handful of specific security guards, and the Countess of Twilight, apparently, who was perfectly done up in spite of the early hour.

“Do you ever sleep?” Link asked Midna as he settled himself against the antique headboard of the bed and blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the bright lights.

“Not when I’m planning your wedding, which is going to be  _ the _ event of the decade, if not the century,” she said. “Which is why I need you to  _ read the paper _ .”

Beside Link, Zelda struggled to a seat. She groped on the bedside table for a moment then found her glasses, which she pushed onto her nose. The chunky black frames rimmed her sleepy eyes in a way that was distinctly adorable, and Link was momentarily distracted by a surge of affection and happiness.

It had been nearly a year and a half since they’d begun dating, and only a few months ago they’d gotten formally engaged. Link had pulled every favor he could from all of his friends to give Zelda a proposal fit for the queen that she was: on a spring weekend getaway to visit Miss Paya, Link had proposed in the garden of Lanayru Heights, which Granté and the other gardeners had transformed into a glittering fairyland. Zelda had tearfully accepted Link’s proposal… but, of course, it came with complications.

Complications like getting his upcoming title approved by the royal parliamentary council, for one. 

“Is this about Chancellor Cole again?” Zelda asked as Link finally grabbed the newspaper Midna had thrown in his face. She was settling in against Link’s side and the sleepy daze was draining from her eyes. 

“No,” Midna said. Her perfectly-painted lips were drawn into a grim line. “Worse.”

Link flipped the newspaper over, then rotated it so it was right-side up. As he caught sight of the all-capitalized headline, his stomach sank.

“EX-GIRLFRIEND OF FUTURE ROYAL PUBLISHES DAMNING TELL-ALL”

“Hell,” Zelda muttered.

“Not hell,” Link replied absently. “Worse. Hilda.”

“The book, which was given a surprise launch overnight, shares unflattering insights about Link Forester, the Queen’s future husband. In one detailed accounting of a date night gone horribly wrong, it describes an intoxicated Forrester flirting with the author’s best friend, while anecdotes about Forester’s upbringing in a Kakariko orphanage depict a man who is, at best, emotionally stunted, and at worst, a potential loose canon primed to do irreversible damage to the royal family’s image…” Zelda paused in reading aloud to look up, fury sparking on her face. “I can’t believe this! Why didn’t we hear about this sooner?”

“It wasn’t exactly my best moment,” Link said, shame swirling in his gut. “I didn’t notice how strong the drinks were at that restaurant, and I didn’t realize the waitress was flirting with me. I was just trying to be nice, and it really pissed Hilda off. She didn’t talk to me for a week after that.”

“No, Link, not that,” Zelda said. Her tone gentled a little as she laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sure everything in the book is twisted and blown out of proportion.”

Midna nodded her agreement. “There’s nothing like the specter of jealous girlfriends past to put a damper on your day,” she said with none of her usual playfulness. “Your legal team is already calling the publishing house to ask why we weren’t informed and to investigate a potential libel angle. In the meantime, you both need to get up. It’s time to do damage control.”

“And just how are we going to do that?” Link asked as Zelda hauled herself out of bed. He took a moment to admire the curve of her shapely rear, which was only barely covered by a pair of tiny pajama shorts printed with blupees. 

“You’re going to go out in the world and do what you do best.”

Link rubbed his mussed hair. “Repot Tabanthan moth orchids?”

“No, you ridiculous man,” Midna said with exaggerated patience. “Be handsome and charming. Remember, you’re going to the Royal Hylian Children’s Hospital today, so that’s a perfect way to refute the claims that you’re a cold fish. And Zelda—”

“I know,” Zelda said grimly as she pressed a button to summon her maid. “I need to get ahead of this with parliament.” She sighed and shook her head. When her gaze met Link’s, her eyes were rueful. “This isn’t going to put them in a better mood. And here I thought everything was settled before the vote next week… but what’s done is done, I suppose. Hopefully I can soothe their feathers before our trip to Lurelin in a few days.”

“I’m sorry,” Link said, feeling awful. Ever since he’d proposed to Zelda, she’d been in a constant battle with her parliamentary council. The old guard was dead set against the queen marrying a commoner and elevating him to the rank of king. The younger of the council was split between thinking the queen ought to marry for love, or thinking the queen ought to marry them instead of him. 

“I’m marrying you whether they like it or not,” Zelda had told him at one point several weeks earlier. “But if I can get them to vote to make you a king after our marriage, things will be much easier.”

“And if they don’t make me a king?” Link had asked her. “If they don’t acknowledge our marriage as equals? Can’t they, I don’t know, un-crown you or something?”

“It would take a seventy-five percent majority vote to strip me of my rank,” Zelda had reassured him. “And the people of Hyrule would riot. Have you seen all the movies and books they’re writing about us? We’d win in the court of public opinion and the parliament ―even the Senate― can’t risk alienating the people. Don’t worry about it.”

But Link was a worrier. And judging by the slight lines that had appeared around Zelda’s eyes, she was worrying too.

“The sooner I handle this, the sooner I can focus on packing for our romantic pre-wedding honeymoon,” she said now with a smile that looked only a little forced. Then she shook her head. “Damn that Hilda,” she muttered. She leaned over the bed and kissed Link’s lips softly. “I don’t blame you for this.”

“The worst you’re guilty of is having bad taste in women,” Midna agreed. “Present company excluded, naturally.”

“Tell that to the Senate,” Link said glumly.

“No sulking,” Midna said. “You need to be handsome and charming. You need to pretend like this book doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zelda said vehemently as she padded barefoot to the bathroom. “Right, Link?”

“Right,” Link agreed miserably. “It doesn’t matter at all.”

* * *

It totally mattered.

Zelda tried not to let her worries show, but instead wound up chewing at the inside of her cheek. In the car, she had pored over the notes she’d taken, the sheet where she vied, desperately, to keep track of which member of Parliament was onboard, and which yet needed to be convinced, and realized the morning’s affairs had thrown all of her tracking off. This information was now painfully obsolete. Things were in motion and opinions were shifting, though she had to wait before she began to make crucial phone calls. Every second that passed without her intervention was eroding the fragile support she had built.

If she ever met that Hilda, she would have many choice words for her.

At least Link was doing everything right. He was currently engaged in a thumb war with a little boy, Fado, giving the impression of a hard-fought battle. The boy’s chemical drip gave him a sallow complexion at odds with Link’s radiant aura of health, but when Link made a great show of being trapped under his thumb, ultimately granting the boy his well-earned victory, it seemed Fado perked up considerably.

“The cameras will be here any moment,” Malon announced, erupting into the room with a harried look Zelda was learning to know well. Although the publicist spent much of her time assuring both Link and Zelda that she was honoured to work for them, no one could deny she’d bitten off one massive headache of a mandate.

Link hardly seemed to acknowledge the news. Instead, he was rifling through the boy’s bedside shelf, pulling books out to study their covers critically.

“That one,” Fado said, when Link retrieved a well-loved copy of  _ The Brave Deku Sprout _ . Link shot him a curious look, and the boy elaborated: “It’s my favourite.”

It was a classic. Link’s smile was sincere, though Zelda knew him enough to see a tinge of sadness in him. “Mine too,” he admitted. He pulled the hardcover open and flattened the pages under his palm. “I like stories where characters have courage.”

“My favourite part is when the Sprout goes into the fire to save his friends.” Only to be reborn at the end, more cheerful than ever. “Mom says I have to be like the Sprout.”

Zelda glanced at Fado’s mother, who sat in a reclining chair on the other side of the room, watching them wanly. She nodded, a tired smile on her face.

“When I was in the orphanage,” Link said, and Zelda was surprised to hear him speak of it ― he rarely liked to dwell on the past these days ― “I would read this book to remind myself that anyone can be brave, even little boys like me.”

Zelda’s eyes prickled. She snapped out of it when she heard the click of a camera, and she realized that journalists had come in without her notice. Dabbing at the corner of her eyes as subtly as she could, she turned to smile at them pleasantly.

“If you didn’t have a mom, who cared for you when you were sick?” Fado asked, vaguely motioning to the tube that poked out of his arm.

Link shook his head. “I had plenty ―  _ plenty _ ―” he added, with emphasis that made the boy grimace, “of brothers and sisters.”

“Ew,” Fado said. “I have a sister, but she’s dumb.”

“Fado!” His mother exclaimed, as the journalists and Zelda held in their laughter.

“Sisters can be pretty annoying sometimes,” Link agreed. He was speaking softly. Zelda wondered if he’d forgotten why they were here, if he even knew journalists were in the room. She decided it didn’t matter. “But you know, sometimes they’re the only ones who can talk sense into us. Like when we need to be brave.”

“I guess,” Fado mumbled. The two of them sat in silence for a moment as Link continued flipping through the pages. For the briefest of instants, Zelda feared they were creating an awkward silence, that the journalists would misinterpret this, like they misinterpreted everything about Link.

Another click. And one of the reporters grumbled, to her photographer, “If Joe could do that with his own children, just sit and read, I’d not need so many leave days.”

Zelda turned, blinking, trying hard not to giggle, and the reporter flushed.

“Forgive me, your majesty.” Then, boldly, “But let me know if you want to trade.”

“Not a chance,” Zelda softly replied. The two women exchanged smiles, and another few clicks sounded.

“Will you be visiting the new radio-oncology labs today?” The reporter asked.

“That’s the plan,” Zelda said. At the bedside, Link had begun reading the last few pages of  _ The Brave Deku Sprout _ softly, for Fado’s benefit only. Zelda’s heart swelled inside her chest. “But not quite yet,” she softly added, settling in to wait.

“I imagine you’ll have seen the news of Ms. Hilda Lorule’s new book…?” Someone else asked.

But Zelda was watching Link. She was absorbed by it. It allowed her to hide her brow’s quirk of nervous irritation at the reminder. Rather than say anything, she merely nodded. “Hm.” It was vague. Non-committal. Almost bored. Unbothered. She needed to look unbothered. Not just for the press, but for Link, whose ears had twitched at the name.

“Do you have any comment?” A journalist prompted. Gods. Like dogs to a bone.

“I’ll have to read the FairyNotes version at some point,” Zelda replied, as casually as she could. Then, because she feared her extreme detachment might look artificial, she turned to the men and women crowding the doorway and curiously asked, “What did  _ you  _ think of it?”

The question startled them. Zelda’s lips quirked with an irrepressible smile.

“Garbage,” one of the journalists said. “Terrible use of commas.”

“A nasty spin,” another said. “Still, it’s bound to sell like hotcakes.”

Zelda snorted. “Then I simply must get myself a signed copy.” She turned back to look at Link, who was grinning ear to ear as he read. “Though, of course, I don’t need some book to tell me what he’s like.”

“Agreed.” That was the female journalist from before. Zelda decided she liked her.

Link shut the cover over his book and looked up at them. “If you’re all done talking about me, perhaps we can discuss the great work this hospital is doing, using plant cells to create new graft types?” He glanced at Fado, at his side, and noted the boy was looking sleepy, no doubt from the medication coursing through his veins. “Not here, though.” He put the book back in its place and ran a hand over the boy’s forehead, pushing hair out of the way. “Alright, bud. Take care of yourself.”

Fado mumbled something, so the boy’s mother took over. They exchanged parting pleasantries in a soft voice, and not for the first time, Link handed her his contact card. He really had a habit of handing that out to everyone he met. Zelda had once tried to teach him it would overwhelm the operators at the palace, but he’d shrugged. He wanted people to call. He wanted to hear from them.

Zelda couldn’t blame him for that.

Link approached, wiping his hands on his trousers nervously. “Labs, then?”

“Labs,” Zelda confirmed with a smile, tucking her arm into his.

They made their way through the hospital, escorted by the hospital administrator, a gaggle of pediatric doctors and surgeons in white coats, and trailed by what felt like all the reporters and photographers in Hyrule. As they walked, the doctors explained the cutting-edge technologies that had been installed thanks to a generous grant from the Royal Foundation for Children, and how those technologies were being used to pioneer more effective treatments for various childhood illnesses. Link nodded along, listening with every evidence of rapt attention and asking thoughtful questions.

Zelda tried hard to attend to what was being said, but her mind kept drifting to the problems of parliament and now Hilda. Not for the first time (or even the fiftieth) she wished that she was just another girl, not Queen Zelda. If she was just Zelda, the worst challenges she and Link would be facing with their wedding would be around seating charts, rather than trying to prove that they should be allowed to wed as equals in the first place.

Zelda had been trying hard to conceal it from Link, but things weren’t going well with parliament. Even though Zelda’s father had married below his station, at least her mother had been a peer with a verifiable bloodline; Link’s dubious parentage, plus his upbringing in the orphanage, had led to no small amount of consternation amongst the stuffy chancellors that currently held Zelda and Link’s future in their hands. 

Of course, it didn’t help that there were numerous different factions that opposed Link for differing reasons. Some disliked him because of his low birth. Others disliked him because they thought that he would be unable to acclimate to the rigors of royal life. But worst of all was the small coalition led by Chancellor Cole, who Zelda was certain were opposing Link just out of a desire to drive Zelda to abdicate so they could seize power by putting Cole on the throne instead.

Zelda really, truly hated the fact that she was related to that loathsome little toad. True, it was a distant relation, but he was technically her heir. Her sole heir. Zelda’s father had had no siblings. His mother had once had a brother, but he’d died during a long-ended war against Termina. Cole was descended from Zelda’s great-grandfather’s sister, which ought to have made his claim to the throne tenuous at best… but the family had never forgotten that they were the next in line to lead Hyrule, and had ingratiated themselves or made themselves irritating in turn, depending on who led the clan.

Apparently, the clan had decided that the time to seize power was now.

Zelda felt a gentle press against her fingers. She looked up, startled out of her unhappy ruminations. They’d reached the lab, and one of the white-coated physicians was eagerly explaining how some machine assisted in a 3-D conformal radiation treatment. Zelda looked up at Link, who had squeezed her hand against his side with his arm, and was looking down at her with concern. She read the question in his eyes: “Are you alright?”

She smiled back up at him, thinking that she was fine, just tired, and hoping that showed on her face. His eyes narrowed microscopically in suspicion, but he returned his attention to the doctors. Zelda made herself do the same.

“―better able to conform our radiotherapy treatments to the exact shape of the tumor, reducing damage to the surrounding cells and healthy tissue,” the doctor explained. “Though it’s a relatively conventional treatment, this new equipment has allowed us to develop even more sophisticated techniques of targeting the lasers, and has resulted in improved outcomes for our patients.”

“Are there specific kinds of cancers that this treatment is allowing you to address that you couldn’t before?” Zelda asked, wanting to give the appearance of having paid attention. The little gambit worked. The doctor puffed up with pride.

“Yes, absolutely,” he said. “We’ve been using this to treat tumors that would otherwise be inoperable, such as many forms of brain cancer.”

“What about liquid cancers like lymphoma or multiple myeloma?” Link asked.

“You’ve done your homework,” the doctor said with an impressed nod. Behind them, Zelda relished in the shutters of the cameras clicking away and the scratch of pen on paper as reporters furiously scribbled down notes. “3DCRT is less effective for those, but we’ve developed a promising immunotherapy regimen that has also improved patient outcomes. And, of course, the grant from the Royal Foundation has allowed us to expand our treatment protocols to help children that might otherwise be unable to access these life-saving services.” 

“Good,” Link said. Though he gave every appearance of speaking to the doctor, Zelda knew his words were for the assembled reporters. “There are so many children in Hyrule that need our help, and I’m glad to see the progress being made here. I look forward to what you accomplish in the future, and wish to help you in any way I can.”

“Yes,” said the doctor, clearly catching on. “Children’s welfare is a great passion of yours, is it not?”

Link nodded decisively. “Even though I grew up in a group home, I was fortunate to have loving caretakers and access to basic medical necessities. But many children grow up in much more difficult and painful conditions. It’s my mission in life to make sure I do whatever I can to support the children of Hyrule. Every child has a right to grow up healthy and well-loved.”

A murmur came from the press pool, and Zelda was certain she heard the female reporter sigh with happiness.

_ Emotionally stunted, my left pinky toe, _ Zelda thought with no small wave of pride.  _ Take that, Hilda. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** Some tumblr-level writing prompt there.  
**Lyx:** Maybe we need a tumblr. Or not. Maybe that’s a bad idea because we need to be functional, productive members of society.  
**CM:** I’d waste so much time. It’s bad enough as is. Let’s not.
> 
> In the next chapter, CM and Lyxie discover that a BOTW sequel is in the works, and things go about as well as can be expected.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following text conversation occurred during Nintendo's E3 presentation, before the trailer even ended:
> 
> **CM:** REAL ALERT ZELDA SEQUEL IN THE WORKS  
**Lyx:** WHAT  
**Lyx:** WHAT  
**Lyx:** WHAT  
**Lyx:** WHAT  
**Lyx:** WHAT  
**Lyx:** W H A T  
**CM:** BOTW SEQUEL NOT A DRILL  
**Lyx:** NO  
**Lyx:** WHAT  
**Lyx:** NO   
**CM:** HOLY FUCKING SHIT  
**CM:** LYXIE.  
**CM:** Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“Can we discuss your guest list?” Malon asked.

Link peered up from his packing list, which itself lay atop a planner and calendar, where yet more lists awaited his review. Lists, lists, lists. It seemed daily life was now nothing but lists.

He was about to say no, to explain he was already drowning in bloody lists, when he noted the frazzled air on Malon’s face. Given how put-together she usually was, he figured he ought to do something to avoid adding more frizz to her hair.

So he sighed. “Sure. My guest list?”

“For the wedding,” Malon clarified, visibly relieved as she sat across from him.

“Alright,” he said, cautiously.

“Is this really all you have?” Malon asked. She lifted the invitation sheet, and Link saw the names of all his acquaintances and friends.

He tensed. His list contained ex-colleagues, ex-orphans and none of his exes, which was the best he could do. Was she about to tell him they weren’t good enough? Was it not enough to unmake everything he was, they also had to push away all the people in his life?

“I don’t know any lords or dukes,” Link replied, coolly.

“No offense,” Malon said, smiling ruefully, “but you don’t know many people at all. Just look― this is your future wife’s guest list.” She retrieved another sheet, unfolded it, and showed him.

Zelda’s guest list was easily five times as populated as his. Link’s heart squeezed with… with…

“I don’t…” He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone―”

“I understand,” Malon agreed, preempting his apologies. “I promise I do. But since we need you to look connected―”

“I know how we need me to look,” Link replied, glumly. What he wouldn’t have given to be in the hothouses right then. “I need to look regal. I need to look connected. I need to look composed. I need to look refined. I need to look intelligent. I need to look charming. I need to look handsome. And most importantly, I need to look worthy, and I am failing on all counts.”

Malon smiled. “Not all counts, Mr. Forester. Perhaps it would be better to think of it as a big play. If you don’t have any more personal acquaintances, then maybe we can allow Queen Zelda’s guests to spill over―”

“No,” Link said, suddenly struck by an idea.

“No?”

He felt his mind racing, doubt and daring wrestling within his conscience. Then, he reached across the desk and plucked his list from Malon’s hand. “It’s fine. Leave it to me.”

“I need that list complete by tomorrow,” she said, nervously.

“You’ll have it,” Link firmly said.

“Because the invitations―”

“You’ll have my list back by tomorrow,” he repeated.

Her cornflower blue eyes narrowed, and she allowed herself a note of suspicion that Link knew she would never have used with her highborn clients. “What are you planning to do?”

“Something charming.”

Malon was silent for a moment, hesitating, and then she relented, retreating from the room. As the door shut behind her, Link heard the telltale footfalls of his future wife behind him.

“Should I be worried?” Zelda sounded far more amused than their assistant had looked.

“I don’t know,” Link replied, honestly. “Probably.”

“Good,” she said. She ran a hand over his nape, and for the hundredth time, a warm shiver spread down his back. She was about to escape when he turned, took her wrist in his hand, and pulled her back to him for a kiss.

When she pulled away, many minutes later, she was prettily flushed. Her hands ran over his shoulders. “Link, you know you  _ are  _ worthy, right?”

A kind sentiment, Link thought, smiling up at her as she stood from his lap. He didn’t let his fear show. He didn’t let her see the panic that seized him every time he heard about Chancellor Cole, or parliament, or anything to do with his future. If he showed fear― if he hesitated― wouldn’t it become a self-fulfilling prophecy? What if she suddenly woke up out of her madness and realized he was an impostor? What if she suddenly saw him for what he was?

He wouldn’t say anything. She was the best person he’d ever met― he wasn’t― he wouldn’t lose her.

“One day,” Link said, “we’ll look back on this and realize we worried for nothing.” He tried to mean it, too. He brushed hair out of her face gently, and she smiled warmly down at him. Gods, but he didn’t deserve her.

And maybe what he was about to do would make things even worse.

But hey, she hadn’t fallen for him because of his meekness.

* * *

“Link, my love, may I speak to you for a moment?”

Link froze, dropping his socks into his luggage, and braced himself.

_ Here goes _ .

“Yes, light of my life?” He replied, in that same light, unassuming tone.

She came into the bedroom leaning against the doorframe, and raised a brow. “I just got a phone call from Malon about your guest list. Would you like to explain why her firm is scrambling to set up public opinion poll lines over the matter of your wedding guests?”

Link inhaled, paused, grimaced, raised a finger, and managed a weak, “Um, well…”

“Did you invite two hundred random commoners to fill out your rows in the Temple of Time on our wedding day?”

Link pressed his lips. “I mean, technically, they’re not fully random. They’re just people I’ve been handing my card out to― people we’ve actually  _ met _ ― Like Fado and his mother, for instance―”

Zelda approached. It wasn’t fair, though. She could already argue circles around him, and she was wearing that short little satin nightdress she always wore when she was trying to seduce him, and it always worked, and it made his brain turn into a garden slug. “Are you telling me that my illustrious, honoured guests, my powerful social obligations, and every current and retired member of Hyrule’s parliament will be sitting across from completely unimportant, absolutely ordinary Hylians?”

Was she mad? She was mad. He tried to decipher her facial expression and wondered.  _ Is this it? Is this how my engagement dissolves? _ No two roads about it. He braced for fury and managed a tentative, “Yes...?”

She looked up at him with that pert mouth and those perky―  _ nooo, don’t think about those _ ―

“Link,” she sighed.

He was about to ask if she was mad when suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Next thing he knew, her legs were around his waist, and they were stumbling backwards onto the bed, missing his suitcase by a few inches. He didn’t care though, as piles of his neatly folded clothes went tumbling to the floor. She was kissing him like she did when she was drunk, like she did when they hadn’t been able to touch for days.

As she paused to gasp for breath, and right before she dived in for more, he managed to croak, “So― you’re not mad then?”

She pressed another kiss firmly to his lips, sending sparks dancing through his whole body. “No,” she said, punctuating each word with a kiss. “You. Are. The. Most. Perfect. Man. In. Hyrule.”

He flipped her over, pressing her into the mattress with a grin. “Public opinion polls, huh?”

Zelda faintly shrugged. “We’ll have to coast on the facts: you’re a bloody populist, scourge of nobility.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “I give up.”

It wasn’t true, Link knew. Zelda never gave up. But at least she approved, and that was a win he desperately needed. “Maybe I should just have kidnapped you,” he finally said. “To hell with nobles.”

“Hm,” she squirmed under him and it felt too good, and Link remembered why she was always in charge. “I wouldn’t have minded, but I still think that’s high treason.”

“I’ll tell you what’s treason,” Link said, pushing against her insistently. “Can’t even have a proper discussion without getting distracted.”

She laughed. “Oh, no, you poor thing.” She ran a leg against his, then higher up, until it held him in place. “Should we resume this talk later?”

“Yes, please,” he breathed, dipping down to kiss her throat, delighting in the flutter of her pulse.

* * *

“At this stage, I can’t tell anymore if you’re a genius or just lucky,” Midna commented.

Link snipped a stray leaf off of the Countess’ newest bonsaï while Zelda stifled a snort. He found peace in watching the way the wood curved, in planning how he would maintain its delicate balance. “What’s that they say about sufficiently advanced technology being indistinguishable from magic?” He turned with a mad smile, poking at the side of his skull with a nod. “That’s right. Sheer brilliance. Don’t let your senses fool you.”

Midna rolled her eyes, returning her attention to her phone. “ ‘As public opinion shot up in the wake of the news, efforts to reach senators for comment have been repeatedly left unanswered.’ ”

“You’d think they would milk this for all it’s worth,” Zelda said. “The elected members certainly are.”

“Senators are  _ appointed  _ members though, and gods only know how many people they’ve had to shove out of the way to get there. They won’t be eager to share the spotlight.” Midna shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong,” she added, for Link’s benefit. “I think inviting regular people is a great move. Popular opinion holds more sway than the nobility likes to admit. But you haven’t exactly endeared yourself to those who actually make the decisions.”

“Well, if I were perfect,” Link said, poking at the mosses amidst the bonsaï roots to ensure they were in good health, “you’d be intimidated.”

“Of course,” Midna sardonically replied. “There’s just no winning, is there?”

There really wasn’t, Link thought. As news of his guest list spread, so did cries of outrage. Not enough to drown out of the social media frenzy of excitement, but… Chancellor Cole had been quick to deride him. Making a mockery of his own bride, he’d said, of ancient traditions and ceremonies. Zelda hadn’t stepped in― Malon thought it would look too much like pulling rank, like defensiveness. But Link was growing weary of continually having to explain himself, of having his every choice, down to the colour of his socks, be analyzed in depth. It was exhausting. He’d never been so scrutinized. And in a way, they were right: the orphanage had not prepared him for this.

Not for the first time, he wondered if this ― all of it, the wedding, the coronation, the pursuit of approval ― was worth it.

And then, of course, he’d see Zelda, and his doubts would wilt. She was worth it, if nothing else. And she kept promising it would fade, that the public would grow tired of them soon after the wedding.

Gods, he couldn’t wait.

“Hold on just a few more days, Link,” Zelda gently said, as though she could read his mind. “And then we’ll be away in Lurelin, and no one will bother us there.”

“Speaking of which,” Midna said, turning to Zelda with barely contained excitement, which on her looked like devilish plotting, “I have something for you.”

“Will I be afraid?” Zelda asked.

“You won’t, but your gardener should be.” And then the Countess of Twilight seized Link’s fiancée by the hand and pulled her away, cackling.

“Midna, if this another one of those stiletto situations―” Zelda began, her voice echoing down the hallway.

“Ugh, it’s not a kink thing this time.” Midna’s voice was annoyed and fading as they left. “But you shouldn’t knock what you haven’t tried. I spoke to Purah…”

Yeah, that wouldn’t be good.

Link put his clippers down and exhaled. She was right. Just a few more days. Just a few more days, and then he’d be on the beach, listening to the wind and the waves, enjoying some well-earned quality time with his beautiful fiancée, who would most likely wear some attractive swimsuit―

He didn’t notice he was smiling dumbly to himself until he was startled out of the reverie by the vibration of his phone. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen, then answered.

“Hi, Aryll,” Link said. He rolled his shoulders out as he tucked his phone against his ear. “How are you?”

He immediately jerked the phone back as a high-pitched squeal cut through the speaker. He held his phone at arm’s length and waited for Aryll’s bout of enthusiasm to die down. When the squeal ended, Link pressed the phone back to his ear.

“―and everyone thinks you’re SO CHARMING and it was a totally brilliant move to invite so many ordinary people to the wedding!”

“Thank you,” Link said, amused. “It was even my idea.”

“Of course it was your idea. Just because you’re a dumb boy doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

Link didn’t bother trying to unpack that one. 

“You’d better not have given away my seat, though,” Aryll continued.

“Of course not,” Link said. “You’re basically family. I’d much rather have you there than some random stuffy chancellor.”

“Such flattery,” Aryll said dryly. “I don’t think my heart can stand up under all these compliments.”

Link grinned. “I’ll try to tone it down. So, what’s up with you? Or did you call just to fawn over me?”

“I’m fine, nothing new or exciting,” Aryll said. “Work’s still fine. I still hate my dumb, stupid boss, but everything else is good.”

Link shook his head. Aryll always hated her boss, no matter the job or the boss. She had fundamental problems with authority figures. He’d tried to tell her so once and it hadn’t gone well. So instead he changed the subject. “What about that guy you were dating? Are you still seeing him?”

Aryll blew out a puff of air on the other end of the line.

“Talo? No. He was just a little too..” She paused, clearly casting around for words. “Too distractible. Like a puppy. Fun for a little while, but exhausting in the long term.”

Link winced on the guy’s behalf as he leaned against a potting stand. Aryll had a long string of boyfriends, all of whom she dumped when they got too boring or too annoying. Link felt for them. He really did.

“How’d he take the breakup?”

“Pretty well, all things considered,” Aryll said, though the way her voice rose in pitch made Link think it had gone anything but well. “Though this does mean that I don’t have a date to your wedding now. Whatcha think, unofficial big brother? Do you know any handsome princely types you can hook me up with?”

“Oh, sure,” Link responded sarcastically. “Loads.” He caught a shadow of motion in the doorway and looked up to see Malon hovering on the threshold, a stack of cards covered in exquisite calligraphy clutched in her hands. He swallowed a sigh. “But it looks like I’m being summoned for royal business, so I need to let you go.”

“Alright, alright,” Aryll said. “Go be all official and important. I’ll see you soon. I expect you to have a roster of dates for me to choose from! Complete with pictures!”

“Bye, Aryll.”

Link hung up, slipped his phone back into his pocket, and raised his brows at Malon. The cheerful equilibrium he’d found in bantering with Aryll began to dissipate. “Everything OK? I thought I had a free morning.”

“You do,” Malon said. “I have a… personal favor to ask of you.”

Link tried not to look leery. In his admittedly limited experience, personal favors tended to be delicate, awkward things for everyone involved. Instead, he looked at the stack of cards in her hand. “Does it have to do with the wedding?”

“What? No.” Malon looked down and realized what she was holding. “Sorry, no, these aren’t for you. They’re for the royal calligrapher. I’m meeting him after this.” 

Link felt his brows arching. “There’s a royal calligrapher?”

“Yes. It’s a traditional post that’s largely honorary, but having a dedicated calligrapher does come in handy with events like this wedding. The current calligrapher is a childhood friend of the queen’s. He’s quite a talented artist, and we were very fortunate that he accepted the offer of the post.”

Link nodded, amused. “Calligraphy. Huh. Who would have thought. Well then, Malon, if this isn’t about fancy illegible handwriting, what can I help you with?”

“It’s…” Malon fidgeted, shuffling the cards in her hands. “It’s about your flowers. Your Silent Princesses.”

Link released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “What about them?” 

“My aunt is a gardener,” she said, and now her cheeks were incredibly pink. “A hobbyist, not a professional gardener, but her flowers regularly win at the competitions, and she’s really quite passionate about it―”

“Malon,” Link said, holding up a hand. “You’re babbling. It’s alright. What does your aunt want with my Princesses?”

“She’s been trying to figure out how to grow them indoors,” Malon said. “She said it’s impossible to do. But her birthday is coming up next week, and I was wondering…” she flushed. “Would you… write down the trick of growing them?”

Link found himself smiling.

“I can do better than that,” he said. He turned and gestured. “Come this way.”

The little hothouse they were in had been an engagement gift from Zelda to him when he’d officially moved into the palace. It wasn’t terribly large, but Link didn’t need a lot of space. His burgeoning duties kept him too busy for anything other than the most cursory of tinkering with plants.

A corner of the small hothouse had been claimed by Link’s Princesses. He currently had half a dozen growing cheerfully from individual clay pots, and another handful of pots that seemed to be empty. He grabbed one of these and handed it over to Malon.

“There’s a Princess bulb in here,” he told her. “I’ll give you directions for caring for it, and you can pass them on to your aunt. Make sure the flower stays in this specific pot, though. No repotting into some decorative ceramic thing.”

Malon took the clay pot with reverence.

“Why does it need to stay in this?”

“As far as I can tell, Silent Princesses will only grow in pots made of Gerudo Highlands clay. I think it might have something to do with the way the pot affects the pH of the soil…” he shook his head. “Botanists still haven’t figured it out fully. Suffice to say, though, that it needs to stay in this pot.”

Malon’s big blue eyes were shining with gratitude.

“This is too much,” she told him.

“Not at all,” Link disagreed. He smiled fondly down at Malon and patted her shoulder. “You’ve been a complete lifesaver through all this madness. I’d be lost without you, you know.”

She smiled and ducked her head shyly.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

They stood in silence for a moment. Then she straightened.

“I’ll get this back to my office,” she said. “And I’ll see you after lunch for your next round of suit fittings.”

Link nodded.

“Sounds good,” he agreed. Malon smiled one last time and scurried out of the hothouse. Link watched her go, then turned and surveyed his flowers with a critical eye. They were looking good, but princesses were finicky. They needed lots of love and care to grow properly in captivity… much like a certain queen of Link’s acquaintance.

“Well then, my beauties,” he told them, pushing his sleeves back, “let’s see how you’re feeling, shall we?”

He never noticed the form in the bushes beyond the hothouse slowly slinking away.

* * *

Link and Zelda were sitting down to a quiet dinner in when the doors of their private dining room seemed to explode off the hinges.

Link looked up from his plate of curry in time to see his head of security storming in, flanked by Malon, who was white as a sheet, and a handful of castle administrators. Across from Link, Zelda dropped her fork.

“What is the meaning of this?” She asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Pardon our intrusion, Highness, but yes. There’s a situation.“ Captain Keaton looked grim and held out a tablet for Zelda to inspect. “It would appear we have a leak.”

Zelda looked at the tablet. Her eyes went wide before a familiar neutral expression slammed over her features. Link could see the fury seething below the surface as she looked up at the captain.

“Find whoever is responsible for this,” she told him. She passed the tablet to Link. “Immediately.”

“We’re already working on it,” he said. “Robbie’s got his cyber department trying to find geotagging information from the photo itself, and we’re trying to figure out who might have been…”

Link lost the thread of what the captain was saying as his stunned brain finally absorbed what was on the tablet. It was a picture of him and Malon in the hothouse earlier that day. He had his hand on her shoulder and was smiling down at her. She was blushing and looking up at him, clutching the clay pot to her chest. They looked like two people having an illicit liaison. But even more damning was the caption.

_ SPOTTED IN HYRULE CASTLE: Forbidden love between Link Forester and royal publicist, Malon Ranch. Seen meeting up in secret in the hothouse that Queen Zelda herself gave her fiancé only two months ago. Forester was overheard saying to Ranch, “I’d be lost without you.” Can’t believe the betrayal! #FireForester #HesNotGoodEnough _

The post had been published to the top royal watching forum, and had been voted on and commented on thousands of times. Link felt sick dread swirling in his stomach as he tapped on the #FireForester hashtag. A long list of posts sprang up and Link scanned them, stomach sinking further. Dozens of quotes that he assumed were from Hilda’s book screamed at him like accusations.

Emotionally stunted.

Clingy and absent in turn.

Easily distracted by other women.

Clumsy and dull.

Anxious and dependent on others for validation.

Easily manipulated.

Link didn’t realize he’d set the tablet down and pushed away from the table until all the eyes in the room turned to him.

“Excuse me,” he said, a sour taste in his mouth. He tried to search for an excuse for leaving during such a critical discussion, but couldn’t find one. They didn’t need him anyway. All he did was make things worse. All he ever did was make things worse.

Blindly, Link made his way to the room that he shared with Zelda, then shut himself in the bathroom. After a few moments of standing blindly in the middle of the tiled room, he stripped off his clothes and left them in a pile on the floor. Then he strode to the shower, turned the water up as hot as he could stand, and sat down under the spray, head bowed.

As he watched water funnel down the drain, his thoughts swirled. Over and over, he kept circling back to the same idea: he couldn’t do this. Every time he seemed to be doing well, something came along to undermine him, make him look horrible. He was going to drag Zelda down with him. She deserved better... She deserved more…

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there before a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Link? I’m coming in.”

It was Zelda. He didn’t bother calling out. She’d come in whether he wanted her to or not. It was her castle, after all.

A moment later, the door swung open. Link could barely see it through the steamed glass of the massive shower. He heard the door click shut, though, and a breath later her form appeared on the other side of the fogged glass.

“I’m sorry,” Link said hollowly, glad for the steam on the glass. He felt unable to face her.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Her voice was vibrating with anger. “Nothing, Link. Anyone can be made to look bad by having their words and actions taken out of context. No, Link. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I keep making you look bad,” he said. “I’m dragging you down with me. You’d be better off without me.” He paused for a moment, and felt his heartbeat in his mouth. “Do you want me to go?”

She was silent for a long moment.

“Malon tendered her resignation,” she said instead after a moment. Link hung his head. He was leaving destruction everywhere he went. All the lives around him were ruined, and it was because of him. “I rejected it, of course. She’s as much of a victim as you are. And what you told her was right. We  _ would  _ be lost without her. Before we leave tomorrow, we’ll go on TV and reiterate as much to the world. And you’re coming with me.”

Link’s brain spluttered. He rubbed a hand against the steamed glass of the shower and peered out. Zelda sat on the other side, smiling gently. He could see she was still furious, but not with him, he realized with a rush of relief. Never with him.

“Are you sure?”

She sighed and stood up. Link saw her clothing hitting the floor of the bathroom, and then the shower door opened and she stepped in, gloriously naked. 

“Get it through your thick skull, Forester,” she said gently. “I’m not leaving you. Not like your parents did. Not like Hilda and Ravio did. I’m here for the long haul, no matter what gets thrown your way.” She stepped forward and pressed her chest to his, then looped her arms around his waist. Water ran over them, and Link found himself calming.

“But your parliament can still separate us,” he said after a moment. “You’re fighting so hard for me. I don’t know how to do the same for you.”

“Keep being yourself,” Zelda reassured him. “Keep reminding me that I’m Zelda the woman, not Zelda the queen. That’s what I need most from you. No matter what parliament does or says, I’m not letting you go. Alright?”

“Alright,” Link agreed. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re amazing, Zel. I don’t deserve you.”

Her embrace tightened around him.

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” she countered. “You’re bearing the brunt of the scrutiny. All of this would have been happening anyway, but it would have been directed solely at me if you hadn’t come into the picture when you did. There would have been speculation about the mysterious princess newly out of seclusion, and tabloids and gossip sites picking apart everything I did. But you’re an easier target. So they’ve gone after you instead. I’m sorry that you’re taking the heat off me.”

If anything, the words comforted Link more than anything else she’d said or done. He found himself smiling.

“So I’m shielding you, in a way,” he said. He was even able to find the humor in the situation. “Maybe I’m not so useless after all.”

“Oh,” she said, trailing her hand down his back, then lower. She gave a little squeeze. “I can think of a few uses for you.”

Link took a deep breath, suddenly feeling much better.

“Anything to please my queen,” he said lightly.

She tilted her head up and kissed him, and he kissed her back, and the matter was settled for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyx:** I just finished re-reading _Midwinter_. We set ourselves what is simultaneously a really high and a really low bar.  
**CM:** I know right? Maybe we need to stray away from tropes and just be ridiculous. Like, excellent writing, ridiculous plot.  
**Lyx:** Or... _both_.  
**CM:** Gasp!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** Have we used Urbosa yet? Do you have any plans in mind for her?  
**Lyx:** YAS USE HER  
**CM:** Awesome. She so fab.  
**Lyx:** Yay!

The studio was so dark in comparison to the stage, Link thought.

It was ridiculous, the things he noticed when he was nervous.

For the third time, he wiped his palms on the legs of his trousers, as subtly as he could. The set of the Urbosa Makeela Show was smaller than he’d expected. For a show as popular as it was, Link had almost expected a stadium.

At his side, in the penumbra offstage, Zelda reached for his hand and squeezed. He looked down to find her smiling up at him, a look of quiet sympathy in her eyes.

“It’s going to be alright,” she mouthed, and he smiled as well as he could, because what was the point of contradicting her?

Urbosa Makeela had assured them both of the same thing, only thirty minutes earlier. She had approached them with the supreme confidence that only someone who did public speaking for a living could possibly exude, extending her colourfully-manicured hand to greet them, first Zelda, then him, and following up with a curtsey that was so elegant, it seemed like she curtsied every day.

Link had been a bit awestruck.

“Ms. Makeela,” he had managed. She was taller than it looked on TV. “Wow. It’s an honour to meet you.”

She had raised a brow, then tilted her head back and laughed sincerely. “Stole the words right out of my mouth. Urbosa, please. None of this Ms. nonsense.” She smiled at Zelda brilliantly. “Thank you so much for accepting our invitation. No hardball questions tonight, I promise.”

There was that, at least, Link considered, watching as Urbosa bantered with her audience, getting them warmed up and comfortable. He’d never seen this part of the show. It never aired. The show usually picked up on the hour. The staff at the orphanage had always adhered to that schedule assiduously. Now Link understood why the audience seemed so upbeat when the opening credits cued.

He was tense. He’d gone to pee four times in the past hour. He had never really spoken to such a large audience before. Worse, there was a bigger audience still behind the cameras ― he could see the massive apparatuses swerving expertly to catch each of Urbosa’s movements ― and they scared him. How many million viewers did the Urbosa Makeela Show attract? He was sure Malon had mentioned it, though he could hardly remember it now.

“If you’re unsure,” Zelda whispered, “just sit back and smile, and let me do the talking.”

How had she become so confident? She had come out of ‘hiding’ about the same time he’d met her, yet she was so much more at ease with audiences―

“... Link Forester and Her Royal Highness Queen Zelda―”

Shit.

Zelda’s hand tightened. “With me, Link. Be the Brave Little Sprout.”

He puffed in sudden laughter, and barely reigned it in by the time she was tugging him onstage. He hoped he didn’t look like he was laughing at the audience, but at least he and Zelda looked like they were having fun.

“Look at you,” Urbosa said, extending both her hands as though she and Zelda were long-time friends. She was talking about Zelda’s dress, a regal carnation pink confection that seemed less fitting for a palace and more fitting for high-class business, but Link didn’t mind. She was, in fact, beautiful― like a sexy librarian.

He hoped Zelda had managed to comfortably rearrange her skirt after he’d groped her in the car.

“And you―” Urbosa leaned in, kissing the air at the sides of his face, and Link got a lungful of her exotic perfume, “so handsome. No wonder she picked you― am I right ladies?” She asked, turning to her audience for validation, and Link was suddenly acclaimed by hoots and screams that took him aback.

“Er, thank you,” he managed, though he doubted the microphones had captured that much. Zelda was beaming at his side, her arm tucked into his.

“Sit down, sit down, please,” Urbosa said, sinking into her own wide chair comfortably. Link waited for Zelda to be seated before taking his place at her side.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Urbosa,” Zelda warmly said. It didn’t do for royals to say thank you for being hosted anywhere, but that was Zelda’s show of gratitude.

“Trust me,” Urbosa said, generously, “the pleasure is all mine. Are you comfortable― I have― do we have glasses for these two?” She asked, in the general direction of the stagehands.

This was almost scripted, Link knew. Before he or Zelda could reply anything at all, an assistant was already setting glasses by their sides, and Zelda murmured a quick thanks. Link managed a smile and a similar ‘thank you’.

“Much better,” Urbosa said, leaning back. She paused for a moment, for effect. Then, at length, “Gosh, I cannot believe I have the heiress to the throne of Hyrule on this show. I have so many questions.”

“Five foot six,” Zelda replied, nodding with understanding. “Five foot seven in heels.”

Urbosa smirked, and a ripple of laughter bubbled through the audience. “Wonderful, I’ll keep that in mind. But truly, I think it’s a genuine pleasure to have you here, and also quite the privilege. You’ve generally eschewed public appearances, especially in your young life, and this cheery, outgoing Zelda is a bit of new thing for you, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Zelda replied, sheepishly. “I’m an academic at heart, so I’ve spent a large part of my formative years in libraries.”

“Oh, bless you,” Urbosa said. “You poor thing. No wonder you look so nervous.”

Zelda didn’t look nervous, Link thought. Only, he was sure  _ he  _ did. Was Urbosa cannily taking the heat off of him? If so, it was masterfully done.

Zelda laughed breezily. “It’s all right,” she said, waving the comment off. “I’ve got a brown paper bag to breathe in.” This earned her another wave of chuckles. Even Link managed to smile a little.

Now Urbosa turned her tiger-like eyes on him. “And you, Mr. Forester. Link. Can I call you Link?”

“ _ Please _ ,” Link said, emphatically. “It’s the only name that feels like it’s actually mine.”

“Right. You were given a surname when you left the orphanage,” Urbosa said, nodding with that worldly understanding that made her look so trustworthy. How did she do it? “Did you get to pick, by the way? Or was it―”

“It was randomized,” Link laughed. There was a mumble of disapproval in the audience, and he faltered.

But Urbosa interpreted them better than he could: “I know, right? Wouldn’t you rather be able to pick? Whoever heard of such a thing? Unbelievable―”

“It’s not so bad,” Link assured her. “It felt like a fresh start, at the time.”

“Well, that’s one way to look at it,” Urbosa agreed. “But I think I speak for everyone here when I say that your fresh start doesn’t really compare to your later beginnings…” She eyed Zelda significantly, and his queen giggled. He liked it when she laughed. He smiled down at her, and she looked up at him with that sparkle in her eyes―

The crowd pantomimed a communal ‘aw’ that startled him out of his admiration.

Even Urbosa looked mildly dismayed. “Gosh, you’re so cute together it’s a little disgusting. Isn’t it a little disgusting?” The crowd vehemently expressed its opinion, though Link couldn’t make sense of it.

Somewhere, in the lull of sound, a woman at the back of the studio screamed, “MARRY ME INSTEAD, LINK”, which was accompanied by a chorus of laughter and hooting.

“Get that woman a body pillow or something,” Urbosa said, taking the interruption in stride. At his side, Zelda laughed, and Link managed a rueful grin.

“Thanks,” he said, to the faceless audience. “You’ve all been...” He shook his head. “... really, really welcoming.”

“WE LOVE YOU!” Someone called out.

“I’ll be the first to second that,” Urbosa said, lifting a sharply manicured finger. “Now simmer down, everyone. We’ll be passing the panty-collection baskets at break time.” She shook her head to the sound of laughter. “I swear, it’s like herding keese. Now, Your Highness― let’s refocus. Can you walk me through what it was like, meeting Link for the first time? How did he catch your eye?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Aside from the obvious?”

Zelda blushed, raising a hand delicately to her cheek. “Oh. I mean― Actually, I rather stumbled into him.”

“Stumbled―”

“Literally,” Link deadpanned.

Whistles and catcalls. The audience was loving it. Link shot them a grin and a wink, and the crowd went wild, clapping and cheering.

Urbosa raised a hand for silence, then shook her head. With one accusatory finger, she said, “I saw that wink. No more winking. Or else we’ll never get anything done.”

“Yes ma’am,” Link said, nodding, striving to look contrite.

“So,” Urbosa said, and Link saw a light in her eyes that betrayed how much fun she was having, “Zelda. Your Highness. You stumbled into him.”

“I did, I was― I didn’t see him. And the worst part was, I just went on my way. Quick apology, and then I had to― we were going somewhere.” She shook her head. “And then I realized he’d been assigned as my partner for the evening.”

“Your usual partner Misko was sick at the time,” Urbosa filled in, nodding.

“Right, and I was only just coming out of my mourning period, and I was… Well. Link was such a comfort, very steady, very reliable, so generous and respectful.” She looked up at him with adoration, and Link smiled down, feeling his heart glowing warm in his chest. “I think I loved him at first sight.”

The audience made a long, low sound of awe.

“And you, Link?” Urbosa prompted. “Clumsiness aside, how long did it take you to―”

“Instant,” Link replied, without hesitation. The crowd redoubled its pantomiming.

“Did you know, at the time,” Urbosa asked, “how difficult this process would be? The coronation, the media, the scrutiny, the involvement of parliament… Did that daunt you at all?”

“Of course,” Link replied. “I mean―” He screwed up his face, then forced himself not to, just in case it made him look stupid. “I mean, I don’t think I knew the full extent of what I was getting myself into.” Zelda reached for his hand and squeezed it. “But there was never any doubt in my mind― From the moment we began, I knew that all things worth having are worth fighting for.”

“Now at the moment we’re speaking,” Urbosa continued, rather soberly, “there are still debates raging about your suitability as a prince consort, let alone as king. You leave for your pre-wedding honeymoon tonight, and the matter is still not settled. Do you intend to go on with your wedding even if parliament decides not to grant Link a title?”

“Yes,” Zelda stoutly replied. Link nodded, though the knot of panic in his throat prevented him from speaking up. Zelda added, “To be clear, the question to be resolved is not whether I intend to keep Link. It’s about how much more difficult parliament intends to make our life going forward, strictly for reasons of tradition and class inequality.”

There was some cheering. Urbosa’s eyes were sharp. She was asking for permission to delve further, but those were potentially treacherous waters. Zelda squeezed Link’s hand, signifying that he ought to trust her, and lifted her chin. Urbosa saw the nod for what it was.

“There are some,” Urbosa carefully began, “who seem to argue that Link is not suited for the throne.” She reached behind her couch and pulled out a copy of Hilda’s loathsome book. “We were sent this ahead of the interview for ‘perusal and education’, I think the note said.” She flipped the pages between her fingers. “Actually, this is a signed copy, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Oh, goody,” Zelda deadpanned, and she shot her giggling audience a conspiratorial smile.

“I’ll confess I didn’t read the darn thing,” Urbosa said. “Not my kind of spiel.” She handed the book over casually. “Would you like it? Could be worth something someday.”

“I’m sure,” Zelda said, accepting the gift. Her voice had just a hint of sarcasm to it that still gave her plausible deniability. She made a show of flipping through the pages. Link had never loved her more.

“Still, this is just one example among several that paint your excruciatingly charming fiancé in a negative light―” Urbosa pursed her lips. “Would you care to comment at all, or…?”

“If I may,” Link said, before Zelda could reply. She swallowed back her breath and looked at him curiously. Urbosa motioned for him to continue. He cleared his throat, adjusted his suit jacket, and said, “Look. I think everyone is making a huge debate of figuring out whether or not I, a lowly gardener, am worthy of marrying Queen Zelda of Hyrule, literally the most beautiful and kind woman I’ve ever laid eyes upon, and the answer is plain and simple. No. I’m not. I’m not worthy at all.”

The audience protested, and he felt Zelda tensing at his side, bracing to argue, but he squeezed her hand.

“It’s true―” He said, innocently. “I’m not worthy. Are you kidding me?” He motioned to her, letting all the emotions he’d felt until then surge to the surface. “Look at her. Look at her― she’s brilliant, she kind, she’s impossibly patient, she has a hundred quirks, each more charming than the next― How could  _ anyone  _ be worthy of her? I spend basically every day working my ass off to make myself good enough―  _ just  _ good enough, so that she doesn’t suddenly come to her senses and realize how much work still lies ahead for me.” He got laughs there, which was a relief. 

“I know I’m not worthy of her. No debate there,” he reiterated. “But I do know  _ some  _ things. I know how hard she works, and how much she cares. I know she deserves that I do my absolute best, every single day. I know that I can learn everything in due time. I know I can  _ become  _ worthy, if given the chance.” He leaned forward ever so slightly. “How many men have you met who would be content to work that hard but  _ still _ take the backseat, to hitch their wagon to a star and always stand in that shadow? Always be outdone, no matter how hard they try?”

“Too few,” Urbosa said, eyes keen.

“Exactly. Now imagine this. Imagine that I was perfectly content doing that, just doing my best, every single day. Imagine that I didn’t dream of glory, or honors, but that all I wanted to do was serve the people. No accolades, no celebrations, just hard work and quiet thanks. Imagine that I would do all that, and all I wanted in return was to be allowed to publicly love, support, and keep up with my amazing, beautiful wife. Would that be so bad? Is that such a scary thought?”

“So, you’re saying…”

“My point is,” Link said, feeling a fire in his chest, “I am going to marry this woman, and I’m going to do my best and work my hardest to deserve her every day.  _ Nothing  _ is going to keep me from doing that.” Whistles and hoots. He ignored them. “So rather than debate whether I’m worthy, which we all know I’m not, let’s debate how we can make her life and her job easier, because she is absolutely killing it.”

Clapping came up at that, and Zelda stared up at him with a mix of love and amazement. She was so beautiful under the studio lights― He cradled her face between his hands and kissed her, right there on live television. He didn’t hear the roar of cheers or that Urbosa called for a commercial break.

All that mattered was that he was going to marry her, and everything else be damned.

* * *

Crucial thought. What  _ day  _ was it? How long until Midsummer?

Link blinked blearily at the sunlight, feeling parched, and stumbled under the shade of the palm trees, head pounding.

Was he going to be late for his own wedding? Would Zelda wait for him, assuming she was alive and fine― gods, he hoped she was alive and fine―

It was a moot point anyway, he considered, dumbly, as his bare feet sank into the sand. He was stranded on a desert island just days ―presumably― from his wedding to a royal. If he was late, they would rightly decide that he was unworthy, and then they would cancel the wedding, the engagement, the whole thing.

He imagined the look of betrayal on Zelda’s face, the veil hardly hiding her tears, and his chest squeezed painfully.

_ I promised I would marry her. I stood up on national television and promised I wouldn’t let her down _ . The thought of betraying that was pure agony.

Much like the headache pounding in his skull.

_ Think, Link _ , he urged himself.  _ What would get me rescued the quickest? _

Assuming he would get rescued― his eyes narrowed, and he remembered an ominous chuckle, a comment about being expendable― but his memory was still faulty, and he could hardly piece anything together for the pounding in his head.

First, water. He blinked up at the trees around him and considered his options. There were large succulents there, in a jagged outcropping of rock, and he approached them, frowning, wracking his brain. Aloe, he recognized, studying the leaves. Aloe wasn’t a bad idea, though rather a strong laxative. He looked around, thinking.

_ Palm fruit _ . The sight of the familiar fruits on the ground filled him with such an absurd amount of gratitude, he fell to his knees. “Oh, thank the fucking gods,” he muttered. He had always been terrible at climbing palm trees, and they were harder to shake than they looked. Trees like that didn’t resist hurricanes without some amount of sturdiness.

Plus, falling palm fruit were a shockingly common cause of death.

No matter. There were palm fruits on the ground, and that was a blessing. Sure, their water would likely upset his stomach a little, but it was a start. He needed to alleviate this headache, or he’d never think straight.

And he  _ needed  _ to think straight, he thought, as he began to hit the palm fruit repeatedly on a rock. Because he was going to find Zelda ― rescue her, if need be― and then he was going to  _ marry her _ , damn it.

“Just you wait, Zelda,” he mumbled. “I’m on my way.”

* * *

It shouldn't have surprised Zelda that she and Link didn’t escape for their vacation according to plan.

They were in the green room, chatting with Urbosa after the show. Link looked flushed with victory, simultaneously awed at the company and with himself.

“That really was a very nice speech,” Urbosa said to Link, patting his arm. “Did you practice it?”

“Came up with it on the fly, actually,” he said bashfully. Away from the glare of the lights and the love of the audience, he was back to himself: calm, humble, not particularly outspoken. “I meant every word, though.”

Urbosa made a noise in the back of your throat. “Of course you did. That much was obvious. You know, if you ever want to come back on the show—”

Zelda was distracted by a discreet tap on her arm. She turned and found Malon hovering apologetically behind her. Zelda offered her most bracing smile. The poor woman still looked mortified, and the dark circles under her eyes testified to the fact that she hadn’t slept. Zelda couldn’t blame her. On royal watching sites and in the tabloids, the publicist was being excoriated. Zelda had made a point of mentioning Malon in the interview with Urbosa, and had echoed Link’s words that they both would be lost without her. Hopefully, that would put the worst of the vitriol to rest.

“Malon,” Zelda said warmly. “Were we OK?”

“You were spectacular, Majesty,” she said. She cracked a wan smile. “I do have some notes for next time.”

“Good,” Zelda said. Malon still looked exhausted, and Zelda didn’t insult her by asking if she was alright. “Can I get you anything? The refreshment table is to die for.”

“No, thank you.” That wan smile flickered, then died. “Majesty, I have some bad news. I’m afraid you may need to delay your flight out. Parliament is… well, they’ve requested your presence.”

Zelda swallowed an impatient sigh.

“Do you know what they want this time?”

Malon seemed to shrink.

“It’s an emergency meeting about last night’s leak,” she said. “I’ve already called for a car to take you to parliament. It should be here in the next five minutes. Link and I will proceed to the airfield with the luggage so you can leave as soon as you’ve escaped.”

Zelda inhaled, swallowed a sigh, then forced a smile.

“Thank you,” she said instead. “I’ll go tell Link.”

When Zelda bid him goodbye and explained where she was going, his cornflower blue eyes immediately darkened with concern.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he offered tentatively.

“No, it’s fine,” Zelda said, and summoned her most unconcerned, effortless smile. “I’ll meet you at the airstrip.”

Link nodded, but still looked worried.

“Good luck,” he told her. He gave her a lingering kiss goodbye, and Zelda returned it, uncaring of the audience watching them. Though displays of affection made her uncomfortable, Midna had pointed out that the more invested the general public became in ‘the Royal Romance,’ the harder it would be for parliament to put a stop to it. So Zelda kissed and allowed herself to be kissed in turn, then parted with Link and followed Malon out to the back lot, flanked by a handful of the Royal Guard.

Zelda clambered into the back of the glossy black SUV, then waved a last goodbye to Malon and shut the door. The Royal Guard that had escorted her out climbed into two sedans that flanked the SUV, and in the front seat of Zelda’s SUV, a Royal Guard rolled down the privacy partition.

“There’s a secure tablet in the back seat for you, majesty,” the woman said. “Your secretary sent notes to it. There’s also a change of clothes for you as well,” she added, nodding at a black garment bag.

“Thank you,” Zelda said, looking ruefully down at the tropical sundress she’d planned to wear to the airplane. Definitely not appropriate for a visit to parliament. “I’ll buzz you if I need anything.”

“Very good, majesty.” The partition rolled up, leaving Zelda alone in the back of the SUV.

She began shimmying out of her cute dress printed with cheerful palm leaves, then pulled off her strappy sandals. Sitting in her underwear, she unzipped the garment bag, then pulled out the simple red sheath dress, pulled it on, and tossed on the black blazer and pumps that came with it. She’d been wearing her hair in her signature chignon so there was nothing to do there at least.

Zelda grabbed the tablet that the Royal Guardswoman had indicated and began to scroll through the notes that her assistant Gonzo had sent. They were depressingly spare and listed only the chancellors that were expected to be at today’s impromptu meeting. Even the content of the meeting itself was unclear. 

According to Zelda’s assistant, the chancellors wanted to discuss “the leak of information from the royal residence”. Many of the names on the list of people present were on the Parliamentary Committee for Security. Unfortunately, the majority of the chancellors in attendance today were either undecided on the matter of Link, or stoutly in opposition to his appointment as king. There would be depressingly few allies present, but Zelda figured that was fine. She’d laid awake, fuming, and now had some choice words for people more concerned about Link’s bloodlines than about the security in the palace.

It wasn’t a particularly long drive from the filming studio to the parliamentary building, but it was long enough for Zelda to organize her thoughts about what had happened the night before. Having someone running around the palace grounds spying and leaking what they knew was a serious security issue, and one that (according to the notes) the Royal Guard was taking very seriously. It had happened before, but that had been in the era prior to everyone having recording devices in their pockets. Until the leak was found, the Royal Guard had proposed a series of rules to ensure the privacy and security of the castle’s occupants.

What Zelda didn’t understand was why she was being called, unless the committee had some grave findings to report.

The car pulled onto the parliamentary grounds, then around to a secured entrance, where it crunched to a stop. Zelda stepped out of the car into a gray, drizzly afternoon, one that was typical to Castle Town in late spring, and (again escorted by her guard) made her way into the building. It was a short walk to the hearing hall where the chancellors were waiting, and Zelda walked quickly, her heels rapping a tat-tat-tat against the marble floor. The sooner this was over with, the sooner she could go to the airfield and begin enjoying her much-needed getaway with Link.

As she entered the room, the chancellors stood ― Chancellor Cole a little slower than the rest. Zelda inclined her head in acknowledgement of their murmured greetings, then took the royal seat that was permanently reserved in every conference hall.

“Chancellors,” Zelda said to the gathered assembly of fifteen people. “What do you have for me?”

A few chancellors exchanged uncomfortable glances. Zelda felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“Have for you?” That was Chancellor Shad, who looked confused. “Were you not informed of the reason why you were called here?”

“I was told it was to discuss the security leak in the palace,” Zelda said. “Is that not the case?”

“It is,” said Shad. “To an extent.”

“There is some concern,” said Chancellor Cole, speaking up in his grating, whining voice, “about the contents of the leak. You must admit, the picture it paints of your choice in consort is… unflattering.”

Zelda sat stock-still in shock for a long moment as the chancellor’s words trickled through her mind. Then came a flood of rage. She took a few deep breaths, mastering it, pushing it down within her. When she spoke, her voice was level.

“You called me here,” she said slowly, “before the  _ Security Committee _ , to discuss Link’s suitability as a husband?” 

“He was caught in a compromising situation once already,” said Chancellor Cole. “Think of how much more vulnerable he’ll be once he has access to classified information.”

Zelda took a deep breath, slowly, and then let it go over a long count to five. A few more chancellors began to look uncomfortable.

“Allow me to state my understanding of the situation,” Zelda said. “My fiancé was spied on in the privacy of the royal palace, and had his words and actions taken out of context and plastered across the internet and tabloids. The response of this committee, the Security Committee, whose responsibility it is to ensure that national interests are protected, is not to immediately investigate the source of the leak. Instead, you use this as an opportunity to again undermine my choice of a husband, and imply that because he was spied on by trusted staff that this committee vetted and approved, he’s unsuitable as a spouse.”

Several more of the chancellors began to look uncomfortable.

“Then,” said Zelda, voice rising as the ball of anger in her stomach fought to escape, “this committee summons me here under misleading pretenses, incurring charges of Royal Guard overtime as they made an unplanned trip to escort me, not to mention incurring the charges associated with delaying and rerouting a previously-approved royal flight, to lecture me about whether Link will be a security risk to this nation, though he is in no way at fault for the leak. Does that sound about right to you, gentlemen and ladies?”

Even Cole’s self-satisfied smirk had begun to fade.

“His behavior is an embarrassment to you and by extension the whole nation,” Cole said. “Other nations will perceive him as a point of weakness.”

“Anything can look bad when taken out of context,” Zelda retorted, trying to master her temper. “Instead of making up points of weakness, why is this committee not attempting to suss out the actual vulnerability, which is a spy in my home?”

“Let us guarantee to you, majesty, the committee is taking the issue of a spy in your home very seriously,” Shad said, finally stepping in. “I apologize, majesty, that you were unaware of the reason why we had summoned you initially.”

Zelda nodded her acknowledgement of the apology but didn’t speak. She didn’t trust herself.

“Since you’re already here, let’s speak for a few minutes about last night’s events. And, if you don’t mind, I’d also like to ask a few questions about your chosen... consort, and then we’ll let you be on your way.” Shad tried to smile comfortingly. “We have a few questions about him—not because we’re attempting to smear him,” he added at Zelda’s sharp look. “We’ve run a number of investigations into him and his background and have questioned a number of other people, but still have yet to hear from you in a formal capacity, though that had been initially scheduled for after your return from Lurelin. But since you’re already here…”

Zelda waved a hand brusquely. “Ask away.”

Just over an hour later, she click-clacked her way back down the hallway, regretting that her spindly heels were far too small for her to effectively stomp in. Shad and a number of the other chancellors had been downright contrite about how Zelda had been misled— she’d gleaned the impression that it had been Cole’s office that had sent her the urgent and misleading summons. At least none of the questions had been too offensive. They’d mostly focused around what Link had or hadn’t seen (though she tersely reminded them that he would be far better speaking for himself). Then had come a number of queries about Link’s character, his personality, his trustworthiness, put to her as Zelda the Queen instead of Zelda the woman.

She’d answered every question as best she was able to without bias, and then they’d released her (again, with apologies). And now, as she made her way back to the SUV that had been pulled around for her again, fuming, a tall shadow fell across her path.

“Majesty,” said a smooth, familiar voice. “I thought you’d already left. Is everything alright?”

Zelda looked up. Lord Byrne stood a respectful distance away, faint smudges of ink on his fingers.

“Oh,” Zelda exhaled in surprise. “Hello, Byrne. Everything is… fine. Yes, it’s all fine now.”

Lord Byrne’s dark eyes narrowed, and a rueful grin spread across the royal calligrapher’s features.

“Parliamentary problems again? They certainly don’t take kindly to change, do they?”

The weary weight of experience registered in his voice, and Zelda found herself mirroring his rueful grin. Lord Byrne nearly hadn’t inherited his father’s title because he’d been born out of wedlock to a foreigner. No matter that the previous lord had married Byrne’s Lokomo mother; the lords had been reluctant to let Byrne inherit the title.

“Too bad Anjean isn’t here to help,” Zelda said, referring to Byrne’s late mentor, a sage who had seen the young Byrne’s incredible artistic talent and taken him under her wing. Anjean had been responsible for teaching Byrne calligraphy, among many other things. The old woman had been one of the most respected sages in Hyrule, and her word had been respected on a level on par with Zelda’s father.

“I’m sure Anjean would have had some choice words for your parliament,” Byrne said instead with a rueful smile. “She never cared for their fussing.”

Zelda nodded. Then she gestured at Byrne’s stained fingers. “How goes the wedding preparations?”  _ Assuming I’ll have one _ , she thought, though she kept that particular unhappy sentiment locked away behind a facade of polite interest. 

“Well enough, though I had a nib explode on me earlier,” he said, waggling his fingers. “Thus the stain. I’m just taking a short break for a late supper. Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

Zelda smiled. “That’s very kind of you, but no. Link is waiting for me. I’m on my way to the airstrip to catch my flight to Lurelin.”

Byrne nodded, though he looked disappointed.

“Very well,” he said. “I won’t delay you any further. Please enjoy your trip, Majesty.”

“And you enjoy your scribbling,” Zelda responded. Byrne grinned.

“I always do,” he said, and bowed. Zelda smiled, then made her escape down the hallway, out the door, and to the SUV she’d arrived in an hour prior.

As Zelda shut the door behind herself, she sighed, sagging. Weary. The same Royal Guardswoman from before poked her head through the privacy partition, looking sympathetic.

“Rough meeting?” she asked.

“That’s one word for it,” Zelda said, running her hands through her hair. “Please, for the love of the holy three, get me to the airstrip so I can get on that plane before anyone else tries to stir up any more trouble.”

“Right away, majesty,” the woman said.

Zelda changed in the back of the car again, then pulled her hair down from its twist. She thought about texting Link that she was on the way, but refrained. The Guard would have let him know she was coming. Instead, she looked out the window at the rainy city scrolling past, trying to master the maelstrom of feeling within her. Running into Byrne had taken the edge off of her anger, but she still swirled with unhappiness, resentment, and uncertainty. She needed to get herself under control before she got to the airfield and saw Link. She didn’t want him to know just how strong the opposition to him was.

Watching the pattern of rain sliding down the tinted glass of the one-way windows did the trick. By the time they arrived at the small, secure, private airstrip just outside of town, Zelda had managed to press away the worst of her insecurities. As she climbed out of the car, Link hurried up to her with an umbrella.

“Everything alright?” He asked her.

“Fine,” she lied cheerfully. “Just had to talk about the situation at the castle. The Security Committee and the Royal Guard are trying to figure out who took that picture and posted it online. There’s nothing to worry about.”

She hated lying to him, hated all of this awfulness that she was keeping from him, but she knew how distressed he already was by the fact that she was having to fight for him. Knowing how hard she was fighting would only make his distress worse– and she couldn’t bear the thought that he might think she was losing.

She wouldn’t lose. Couldn’t lose. Not him. And not his faith.

Link looked suspicious, but didn’t press the issue. Zelda looped her arm through his and leaned comfortably against him, taking solace in the warmth radiating through his light coat. Soon, he wouldn’t need it, and she wouldn’t need the green wrap she wore over her flirty tropical dress.

“Ready to escape the rain?” She asked him.

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “I used the delay to have someone prepare you a tiki drink served in the most ridiculous mug they could find.”

Zelda stood on the tips of her toes and kissed Link’s cheek, overcome with gratitude.

“You darling, wonderful man,” she said, feeling her heart fluttering with happiness. It was a small gesture and a silly one, but that care and thoughtfulness was one of the many, many reasons why she loved him. She leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked up to the plane. “Let’s go get that tiki drink.”

“Let’s,” he agreed, and escorted her up the stairs to the plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** Bedtime newsflash: Max Riemelt still exists, still looks like perfection incarnate.  
**Lyx:** Oh good, I’d been worrying about that lately.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyx:** I’m re-watching the BOTW sequel trailer and keep pausing. It looks like maybe it’s got some Twilight Princess references????  
**CM:** WAIT I HAVE EMERGENCY PROJECTS TO DELIVER AND I LITERALLY CAN’T WATCH IT AGAIN RIGHT AWAY  
**Lyx:** OKAY BECAUSE I LOVE YOU I WILL NOT WATCH IT AGAIN UNTIL WE HAVE TIME TO PORE OVER EVERY DETAIL TOGETHER  
*a few hours later*  
**CM:** Someone said the music in the background is Demise’s, played backwards?  
**Lyx:** WHAT  
**Lyx:** Get back to work!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
**CM:** Okay sorry  
**Lyx:** Don’t apologize to me, I’m not mad I’m just pretending to be your self control  
**CM:** Lol I’m not really apologizing and I didn’t go back to work  
**Lyx:** Me neither.

The entire staff of the hotel came out to greet them, which seemed only to awe Link even further. He actually paused to chat with a few of them before Zelda gently steered him towards the hotel manager.

“Did I make a mistake?” He asked her, softly. The sun was rising behind his shoulder when Zelda looked up at him, and for a moment he was striking, like a fashion photograph.

“No,” she breathed. “No mistakes. But you’d have been at it for hours.”

Link glanced back at the two lines of staff that were looking at them both with open curiosity. “Is it going to be like this everywhere we go?”

“Probably,” Zelda murmured, amused. “Mr. Oshus.”

The hotel manager bowed low in greeting, lower than was strictly necessary. “Your Royal Highness. It is an honour, of course, to welcome you. Your security staff has already swept the royal suite, and now it only awaits its two lovebirds.”

Zelda squeezed Link’s arm where she was holding onto it. He stiffened at the feeling of her breast, and Zelda’s smile broadened. “Thank you. I think a moment to rest would be lovely. The flight was a little bumpy.”

“We have all kinds of amenities for your enjoyment,” Mr. Oshus said, leading the way out the back and onto the beachside. A long promenade shaded by fragrant tropical plants wound its way along the high cliffs of Lurelin, to the world-famous Gogobi Beach with its white sands, its tidal pools and spectacular wildlife. Isolated lodges dotted the beachside, but far-enough apart that they each commanded their own stretch of private ocean access. “You simply must try our seafood, of course.”

“Of course,” Zelda echoed, stifling her amusement. Link, for his part, seemed too busy taking everything in to respond with more than a bemused, ‘Huh’.

“This is your first time away from central Hyrule, isn’t it?” Zelda asked.

“The most exotic place I’ve ever visited was Hateno Laboratory, and that was for a work trip,” Link said, grinning. Then, softer, so Oshus wouldn’t overhear, “Are you sure this is affordable?”

Zelda squeezed his arm even more. “Personal coffers, Link. I told you not to worry about it.”

“We’ve done everything we can to provide everything you will need for your private honeymoon, but if you need anything―”

“We’ll be sure to let you know, Mr. Oshus. I’m sure you and your staff have outdone yourselves.” Zelda felt good. She’d had time to bury her frustrations and return to a zen state. She would be allowed to disconnect for the next week… unless the vote went terribly wrong. But there was little she could do about that right now. Link was beloved of the people, with a soaring popularity rating that would have made even the Indigo-Gos jealous. If parliament turned on him now, they’d only make themselves look terrible. And if the Senate did the same…

Her mood soured. It was bad form ― indeed, grounds for an uprising ― for a monarch to veto any decision made by the Senate. Bloody revolutions were not what Zelda had in mind. She knew her power was symbolic, that interference, even over private matters, would be ill received…

But sometimes, she wished she could just march into parliament and take back her royal power the way some of her more violent ancestors had done: with horse and pitch and fire.

Link would not approve, of course. She glanced at him. He was admiring some flowers on the road side, his hand trailing against their leaves. He was smiling, and Zelda felt herself soften.

“What are those?” She asked, leaning in.

“Calatheas,” Link replied easily. “Hardy plants. I had a potted one in my teens.”

The entire path was covered in exotic plants. “Oh, you’re going to be busy, looking at all these.”

“Good thing we’re here for a good long while,” he said, and he leaned in to kiss her. Then, as though struck by inspiration, he turned to the hotel manager, who was politely pretending not to have seen or heard anything: “Mr. Oshus― if I wanted to do something new every day while we’re here, what should I do?”

The old man smiled; it crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “You could start with the summer festival that begins tonight,” Oshus replied. “There will be food and drink and dance on the beach, body paintings, palm readings, and more flowers than one would know what to do with.”

“And how would we handle security?” Link asked Zelda.

She stifled a laugh. “You want to go?”

“Of course,” Link said. “A party on the beach sounds like exactly the kind of thing you need.” And he reached up to rub at the point between her brows ― which was when Zelda realized she must have looked worried, or angry. And the silly reminder to lighten up worked wonders.

Not for the first time, she was amazed at Link’s solicitousness. “Alright,” she relented. “A festival for tonight. And something different tomorrow.”

“Coral reef diving,” Link firmly said.

“Fine,” she accepted, “but the day after that, I want nothing but sunbathing.”

His gaze changed a little ― his eyes darkened, his lips pulled a little upwards, and she knew he was imagining her in a bathing suit. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And a boating excursion the day after that,” she said.

“Sounds good,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to drown far away from any coast.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zelda said, as they approached the lodge that had been reserved for them. “You’ll die of sun exposure first.”

* * *

Step one was rehydrating. The palm fruit worked wonders for that: the watery insides rehydrated him, and the meat of the fruit took the worst of the edge off his hunger. That made step two getting off the island. No, step two was avoiding death by sun exposure. Step three was getting off the island.

Link squinted around from under the giant korok leaf he was using as an umbrella, trying to get his bearings. Which way was he facing? More importantly, which way was the mainland?

Assuming he hadn’t lost more time than he thought, the wedding was in three days. There was a formal dinner tonight he was expected to be at. Would they find him before that?

Memory trickled through, foggy and hazy. His wrists and ankles, bound. Someone carrying him like a sack of potatoes over a broad shoulder. Two men talking, saying something about… a letter. A letter making it look like he’d run away. A letter to keep anyone from looking for him before it was too late.

That meant he had three days to find his way off the island. Three days to figure out which way the mainland was, build a raft, sail to shore, find a way to Lurelin, get from Lurelin to Hyrule Castle, get inside Hyrule Castle, convince Zelda to take him back… 

He was going to need a lot of help. And possibly some magical way of turning back time. But that didn’t exist, so he had to work with what he had. And what he had right now was a broken boat, some palm leaves, and a whole lot of water.

And three days. Time to get to work.

“Dawn of the first day,” Link muttered, looking around, remembering a famous line from an old movie he’d seen once. “Seventy two hours remain.”

* * *

After settling into their room, Link and Zelda went to the bar to grab tiki drinks, and spent a while exploring the resort. It seemed mostly empty ― this was normal during the days, the staff assured them, as everyone was off on various excursions. Link and Zelda debated going down to the beach, but instead opted to take a nap. With the patio doors open and the afternoon sea breeze drifting through, Link fell deeply and soundly asleep, and dreamt of talking boats.

Zelda woke him up a few hours later, and after thoroughly messing up the bed, she dispatched him to take a shower. When he came out, toweling off his wet hair, he came face-to-face with an island goddess.

“It’s a traditional Lurelina sarong,” she said, laughing at his dumbstruck expression. She smoothed a hand over one hip, displaying the colorful, gauzy fabric. It was brilliant pink with white flowers, and complemented her fair coloring as though it had been made for her.

Actually, it probably had, Link realized.

“There’s one for you too,” she said, turning away to retrieve a wicker box. It was good to see her eyes shining with enthusiasm, Link reflected. She’d tried to hide it, but she’d radiated worry on the entire flight. He wondered what she wasn’t telling him about why she’d been called to the palace. “Compliments of Purah.”

“I don’t think I’d look good in a sarong,” Link said

“Don’t be silly.” She presented the box to Link and he opened the lid. “It’s Lurelino. Men’s style.” Link pulled out the lightweight blue shirt, embroidered with a white, stylized lobster, and pulled it on. Then he donned the lightweight canvas shorts that completed the ensemble.

“How do I look?” he asked her, feeling very silly.

“Mmmm.” She made a yummy noise. “ _ Very _ handsome. All you need is sandals and a shell necklace and you’re practically a local,” she said with satisfaction, coming in for a kiss. Then she sprung away from him, all excitement. “Let’s go! I want to see the luau! Do you think they’ll have torches?”

“And drumming, and dancing,” Link agreed with affectionate amusement as he slung his arm around her. “And shellfish pulled fresh from the sea and cooked right in front of us.”

“And flowers,” she said dreamily. “And tiki drinks, of course.”

“Of course.”

They made their way out of the room and down the hall, and followed the staff’s directions to the beach, though the directions were unnecessary. As they exited the building, the unmistakable sound of drums and chants sounded nearby. They followed their ears to a pavilion shielded from onlookers by reed screens. As they rounded the corner to enter the pavilion, Zelda stopped stock-still.

“What is it?” Link asked, peering around her.

“SURPRISE!”

The pavilion was full of familiar, friendly faces: Miss Paya, Lady Lana, Lady Fi, Dame Ashei… even Granté and Groose were there. At the front of the crowd stood Midna, looking very pleased with herself.

“What… what is this?” Zelda asked.

“It’s an early wedding gift,” Midna told Zelda. She was wrapped in her own violet sarong, which showed quite a lot of tanned leg as she strode forward to hug Zelda. “I know how you get about strangers prying into your business, so I rented out the resort and filled it with your friends. Don’t worry, we’re not going to insert ourselves into your plans,” she added, chuckling at the look on Link’s face. “We all just happen to be vacationing in the same place as you. We’ll stay out of your way and let you do your thing, but we wanted you to be surrounded by friends who would respect your privacy and celebrate this happy time with you. Whatever you want from us, you will have.”

“Midna.” Though Link couldn’t see her face, Zelda’s voice was thick with emotion. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to say.”

“‘Thank you’ would be a perfectly acceptable start,” the Countess said.

“Thank you,” Zelda said with feeling. “It’s… it’s good to have you all here. Though I was looking forward to my romantic getaway, you know.” Her tone was light and teasing.

“You can still have it,” Midna told her. “And you can have all of us at your beck and call. Really, my dear. This is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of gift.” She flicked her fingers in a signal, and Miss Paya hurried over, grinning, holding two tiki drinks. She was trailed by Granté, who was looking smitten, and Groose, who looked amused.

“Happy early wedding,” Miss Paya said, smiling at Zelda and Link. She presented the cocktails with some pride. “I mixed these myself.”

“The last time you mixed me a drink, I wound up throwing up into a priceless antique vase,” Zelda said with some suspicion, nevertheless taking the ornately-carved wooden cup.

“I know,” Miss Paya said with excitement. “Drink up!”

The drink was powerful, and Zelda’s grimace made a choir of good-natured laughter spread outwards, so that the party could officially begin.

“Now come on,” Paya said, grabbing her hand. “I have someone I want you to see before you finish your drink and start stumbling everywhere.”

“Well alright―”

She barely had the chance to acknowledge all the familiar faces, but no one seemed to mind. Behind her, Link followed along, grinning at everyone he recognized, and Zelda seized his hand firmly.

Paya seemed positively giddy, and when Zelda saw why, she tried not to roll her eyes.

“A fortune teller?” She asked, keeping her voice low. “Really?”

Paya’s enthusiasm deflated. “I know it’s all hooey. I  _ have  _ grown up since those teen horoscope magazines, you know. But come on, for old times’ sake?”

Zelda glanced back at the fortune teller, pursing her lip in thought, then took another powerful sip. “Oh, alright.”

Paya hopped excitedly from foot to foot, then dragged her forward.

“Madame Fanadi,” she introduced. “She reads palms, tea leaves, crystal balls, tarot and the stars.”

“And I have a best-selling book,” Madame Fanadi added, brushing gently at the giant feathers on her turban.

“And she has a best-selling book,” Paya repeated. “If  _ anyone  _ can tell you that you’ll have eighteen royal children, it’s her.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve always wanted my nether regions to end up like a gaping portal,” Zelda deadpanned, taking a seat in front of the fortune teller. Midna cackled, but Link looked pale, and Zelda peered up at him, amused. Had he forgotten part of his job would be to father royal children? She winked at him, and he went from pale to flushed, a far more flattering expression, in her opinion.

“Eighteen is indeed much,” Madame Fanadi intoned. She took Zelda’s offered hand and made a show of studying the lines on her palm, though Zelda was fairly sure it was too dark, by the tiki torches, to make out much detail. “I do see children, however. Beautiful and wild.”

Zelda felt her smile falter somewhat. She had approached the conversation with humour, but now the woman did what all good fortune tellers did: she dangled a fair future in front of her, and made her long for it. “How many?” She indulged.

“Two― no, three.” Madame Fanadi said, tilting her hand over somewhat, though Zelda felt there was nothing to see there. It didn’t matter. “Each with their own personalities. One is wise, one is adventurous, one is imperious. I see much laughter here, and gentle lessons.”

Zelda felt Link’s hand on her shoulder, and she rubbed her cheek against his fingers. “Will we make it past this mess with parliament?” She asked, lightly, though she found her heart tightening with hope.

Madame Fanadi dropped her hand and pressed her fingers to her temples, humming theatrically. “I see―  _ yes _ , you will. But then, no, you will not, and then yes, again, you will.” She deepened her voice. “But a choice you must make ― a choice at the altar, between the truth and the lies.”

“Well, that clears that up, then,” Link mumbled, and Zelda found herself giggling.

But Madame Fanadi raised a long-nailed finger at Zelda’s fiancé and raised her voice. “Mock all you will, sailor. The voice of the fates never lies!”

“I’m a gardener,” Link replied. “Not a sailor. Might want to check with your fates there.”

“But you  _ are  _ a sailor,” Madame Fanadi said. “With sand in every crevice and sea all around. Mind that the sun does not make you go mad.” Before Link could argue, she added, “You have not sailed yet, but you will. With palm water in the belly and salt water under your raft. Haste will drive you, and despair.”

“This is a lot less fun than your predictions about children,” Link said.

“HARK!” Madame Fanadi cried out, dramatically, as Zelda stifled more laughter. “I see sunlight! Sunlight over the sea, and sunlight pouring through stained glass! I see two lovers, torn apart! I see treachery and lies!”

Link shifted his weight, shook his head. “Oookay―”

But Madame Fanadi wasn’t done. “You may yet triumph,” she said, “if you remember the coast is north.”

“I―” Link paused. “Um. Okay.”

Madame Fanadi bowed her turbaned head low. “Tips are appreciated.”

“Uh―”

Midna reached over the table and dropped a twenty rupee note into the fortune teller’s plate, wiping delicately at her eyes to remove tears of laughter. “Gladly, good woman.”

“Blessings be upon you,” Madame Fanadi said, back to her regal self.

“I don’t know what that was about,” Link said, when at last Zelda was done laughing enough to walk away, “but she gave me horrifying flashbacks to my grammar classes.” He shuddered.

“ _ ‘Hark!’ _ ” Zelda quoted, laughing uncontrollably. She wiped at her eyes, braced a hand against her aching abdominals. “Oh, I haven’t laughed this hard in weeks.” She pressed a kiss to Link’s cheek. “You would be a very handsome sailor, my love.”

He smirked down at her. “I would, wouldn’t I?”

“With sand in every crevice,” she squeaked, and devolved into more peals of laughter.

“Alright, alright,” he said, scowling. “Drink up, light of my life. I think it’s time we made you forget all this.”

* * *

Various braiding methods returned to Link in a flash as he worked, pulling strands of creepers together into a sturdy rope. If he could rebuild the skiff on the shore just enough to keep it afloat, it would be a better deal than building something new entirely from scratch.

In a perfect world, he thought, he’d have laid out the reeds to dry out on the beach completely first. But there was little time, and partially dried reed tubes would have to do. He would bundle them up together into faggots the width of his arm, knotting them together with rope.

The task would take hours. Hours he didn’t have. But every time his eye turned north ― or what he supposed was roughly north, to judge by the position of the sun ― he’d be filled with renewed determination. There was little enough time as it was. He couldn’t be whiny on top of it.

A cursory examination of the boat had revealed splintered planks and a broken motor. It wasn’t seaworthy. But if he could lift the boat and use its structure as a frame for a set of reed floaters, then it may yet be navigable. After all, he didn’t need his feet to stay dry. He just needed to stay above the water to paddle out into the ocean, at the mercy of the wind, the sun and other elements, in the hopes that a passing boat or aircraft would see him.

Thinking about that was scary, so he focused on the task at hand. So far, the sky and the horizon had both remained woefully empty of any sign of life. No one would find him here if he didn’t hurry.

He had been fortunate, at least. He’d made a large pile of palm fruit, which would hopefully sustain him while he was on the trip, and he’d even found the boat’s two oars (though one was shortened a little, broken off at the handle). They would be far better and sturdier than anything he could craft himself. All he would have to worry about was protecting himself from the sun.

Yes, Link thought as he braided and braided and braided. It was a good plan. The only plan he had.

Gods, he hoped it would be enough.

* * *

“Where did you learn how to braid?” Zelda asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.

Link shrugged, smiling, but didn’t look up from his fingers and her hair. The sun was pouring in through the window, and it made her hair look like spun gold. “Aryll taught me once her hair grew too long for her to braid herself.”

Zelda yawned delicately, then sighed, smiling at him in the mirror. “Every time I think you’re already perfect, you reveal something even better.”

“What can I say?” Link asked, meticulously twisting strands of hair. “My Queen asks for help, I provide.”

“Hm,” she agreed, stretching like a cat. It made her back curve, and Link stifled another pang of desire. Enough― he was like a randy adolescent. “Your services to ensure your Queen’s hair doesn’t get ruined by a snorkeling session in the ocean are noted and appreciated.” She reached behind herself and squeezed his thigh.

Well, alright then. “You know, if you keep distracting me, I’ll never finish braiding your hair and I’ll just keep you in here and you won’t need to wear any clothes.” For good measure, he leaned in and exhaled a hot breath against her exposed nape, delighting in the shiver that ran down her spine.

“Promise?” She asked, eyes bright with mischief in the mirror. But she straightened and kept still. “Oh, alright. I’ll behave. But only because I promised Midna she could join us, and she’ll be upset if we’re late.”

“ _ Late _ ,” Link mumbled. “It’s our honeymoon. She should be glad we’re showing up at all.”

“Oh, hush, you want to see the fish too.”

“I don’t know, I think the view from here is great enough as is.” After all, if he leaned forward just a little, he could see straight down her cleavage.

“I have a lovely little bikini Midna bought for me. Don’t you want to see me in it?”

“I saw it.” Link glanced at the polka-dotted fabric that lay innocently on the bed. “I don’t know, Zelda. Should you be wearing that out in public? It’s like you’ll be more naked than when you’re actually naked.” What if someone saw her, and decided to flirt― and stole her away? “My insecurities aside, I worry I’ll forget to breathe ―and die― if you spend all day prancing about like that.”

“Good,” she laughed. “It’s about time I gave you a taste of what you do to me.”

He finished braiding and watched her rise from her seat at the dresser and walk into the bathroom. She was more relaxed today, he reflected. Happier. That was good. He was glad that some of the stress of capital politics seemed to have been washed away at the luau last night.

While Zelda was in the bathroom, he changed into his own swimsuit. As he was pulling on his rashguard she emerged, hands busy with the task of tying a sheer wrap at the back of her neck. The fabric was just see-through enough to offer tantalizing hints of skin and bikini. Link felt his mouth going dry.

She looked up, caught his expression, and chortled.

“Later,” she told him, smiling. “You’re absolutely insatiable.”

“Sorry,” he said only a little sheepishly. “Ready?”

She was. They left their room and strode through the halls, and Link realized how much better he felt knowing that they weren’t going to encounter any gaping, gawking strangers. Having their friends along on his pre-wedding honeymoon wouldn’t have necessarily been something Link would have chosen, given the opportunity… but he had to admit, it was actually rather nice.

As they passed by the patio that served as a dining area when the weather was nice, Link found himself chuckling. Groose and Miss Paya were sitting across from each other at a table, hunched over their plates; Granté was lording over them with the kind of loose-limbed cheer that came with still being ever-so-slightly drunk.

“Good morning,” Zelda called to them, waving a hand. Miss Paya grimaced and pulled her hands over her ears while Groose grumbled back something that sounded like “guh-warning.” Zelda made a soft noise of amusement as they descended the steps from the patio to the lawn and began making their way down towards the beach.

“I’m amazed you don’t feel worse,” Link commented to his future wife as they strode hand-in-hand towards the water. “You knocked back quite a few of those cocktails.”

“Truthfully, I only had a few sips of that first cocktail,” Zelda confided. “It tasted so awful that I tossed the rest behind a bush and bribed the bartender to give me refills that only looked alcoholic.”

“I thought you were excited for tiki drinks,” Link said, enjoying the way the sea breeze felt on his skin. Beside him, Zelda shrugged.

“I was, but they weren’t all I’d remembered them to be.” She shrugged. “And how about you? Why don’t you feel worse this morning?”

“Because I paced myself,” he replied easily. “I didn’t want to be hungover.”

“I don’t think anybody wants to be hungover.” Her voice was as dry as Gerudo desert, and Link found himself laughing.

“No, I mean, I wanted to make sure that I could enjoy every spare moment with you, and that would be harder to do if I had a pounding headache and dry mouth.”

The look she shot him melted his insides.

“Stop it, you two,” came the arch voice of the countess. “I can’t take the sappiness.”

Midna strode up in a black bikini festooned with swirling teal beadwork. Her sunset-colored hair had been pulled into a braided topknot and she wore a sheer wrap that screamed sensuality. She posed, hand on her hip, and studied them.

“Really,” she said, and Link saw her brow arch up from beneath her sunglasses. “Don’t you two get sick of being sappy all the time?”

“Never,” Zelda said brightly. There was a bit of forced cheer in her voice, and Link turned to study her. “Do lead the way, Midna.”

“I will. Only don’t walk too close to me, and don’t raise your voices. I’m afraid Paya’s drinks have left me with a slight hangover.” Satisfied that her orders would be obeyed, the countess made a ‘hmph’ noise and strode off, leaving Zelda and Link to trail after her.

“Are you alright?” Link asked in an undertone, leaning down to murmur in her ear.

“Fine,” she whispered back wistfully, her voice only just barely audible over the crash of the surf. “Only, I always seem to feel like a lumpy, frumpy, short little dumpling next to her.”

Link looked at Midna, who was a little distance ahead. Yes, she was all leg and perfectly toned muscles, but…

“Sure, she’s beautiful,” Link said. “But you’re gorgeous.”

“That’s very kind of you to say.” She laid a hand on his arm. “There’s no need to flatter me, Link. I’m perfectly aware of what I look like.”

Link frowned. “If you’re saying things like that, then you’re not.”

“Link―”

“You’re gorgeous,” he repeated vehemently. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. You were beautiful when I met you, and you’re beautiful now, and when you’re a hundred years old and wrinkled and saggy without any teeth, you’ll still be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, Link.” Her eyes were melting with feeling when she looked up at him. “Thank you. It’s just… I’ve been feeling so insecure lately. With… everything.” She made a vague gesture that somehow managed to encompass far more than the spread of beach they were currently striding down.

“You have nothing to be insecure about,” he said back. “Not when it comes to me.”

She stopped mid-stride and turned to face him. Link stopped too and looked down, mouth open to ask her a question, when she threw her arms around him, pulled his head down towards hers, and kissed him.

“Are you two ― oh, honestly,” said Midna, her voice pitched to carry. “Clearly you need me to walk between you and act as chaperone, otherwise we’ll never get anywhere… oh, damn.” The playful mockery leaked out of her voice and Link looked up, pulling away from Zelda to study Midna. She was scowling across the beach.

“What?” Zelda was decidedly pink as she, too, looked over at her friend. “What is it?”

“Paparazzi,” the countess muttered in a dark tone. She turned to face them. “Some of the hotel staff must have tipped them off. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll be able to join you for snorkeling. I’m going to handle this for you instead.”

“You could get security to do it,” Zelda offered.

“Trust me,” the countess said darkly. “I will. But the kind of terrorizing I have in mind is most effective when carried out by… well, me.” She waggled her fingers in a little wave, turned on a heel, and strode off across the beach. Link could practically see the doom and gloom trailing in her wake.

“You know,” Zelda said thoughtfully, “I’ve never understood people who didn’t have the good sense to be scared of her. Like you, for instance.”

“Trust me,” Link said with feeling. “She’s terrifying. The trick is not showing it. Like dealing with a shark.”

“Sharks can’t smell fear,” Zelda said as they set off across the beach once more. “Don’t you mean a wolf?”

“No,” Link said. “Definitely a shark.”

* * *

Were there sharks this far out? They didn’t come near the mainland often, according to the snorkeling instructor, but Link had no way of knowing how far he was from the mainland. Surely he couldn’t be too far… right?

How idiotic would it be, he mused as he lashed the boat to the reed floaters, if he managed to get out to sea, only to capsize and be eaten by a shark. Sure, the snorkeling instructor had also said that sharks wouldn’t trouble themselves with hunting down anything as large as a Hylian ― that they were far too big to be decent prey ― but still. Link absolutely did not want to be eaten by a shark.

“Well, boat,” Link said casually to the battered little thing, “I’m counting on you to get me back to the mainland safely.”

He looked expectantly at the boat. It was a traditional Lurelino boat, one with an animal’s head carved at the prow. In this case, the head was that of a lion, and little flecks of red paint still clung to its muzzle. 

Silly that he half-expected the boat to respond. Maybe he was dehydrated.

He finished tying a knot and stood, looking out over the water. He shaded his eyes with a hand. The sun was going down, and soon Link wouldn’t have enough light to work by. He looked at the waves lapping at the shore, wondering what the current was like here, wondering what he would find when he got out to sea.

Tricky things, currents. They could just as easily carry him back to shore as they could drag him to his death.

Cheerful thought.

* * *

There were more fish here than Zelda had ever expected.

Once, when she was little and her mother had still been alive, they’d gone to the Zora’s Domain Provincial Aquarium, and Zelda had been absolutely delighted with the floor-to-ceiling glass aquariums, inside which hundreds of fish and coral had fluttered, coexisting in a sort of perfect dance of harmony.

Those paled in comparison to the delight of a real-life reef.

She turned, wishing she could speak and express her excitement, but saw Link was not near her anymore. He was swimming a few meters away, batting slowly at a school of copper fish to watch their numbers spread, separate, then reconverge. When he turned, she saw his lips pulled into a grin, and knew she did not need to say anything. Link was feeling just as she did.

She inhaled through the snorkel, then pushed down, away from the surface, to look more closely at the rainbow coral near the seafloor. Algae was waving in the water, while some coral stood almost motionless, like a stack of big hard plates. There were spongy looking yellow masses, clear pink anemones, vivid red twisted branches, bright green mosses― she avoided touching anything, not only for safety’s sake, but because she knew how fragile those lives were.

She glanced at Link, and saw he was petting a modestly-sized sunfish. She had no idea where he’d found it, or if perhaps the sunfish had found him, approaching Link like  _ he  _ was the curiosity. The urge to laugh forced her to surface and gasp, giggling, before diving back.

Link gestured. There was a school of angelfish approaching placidly, and they inched closer, the better to look at their luminescent colouring.

Such beauty… Zelda would have expounded on it at length, if she could.

Link surfaced, then returned to her side, his hand reaching for hers. He squeezed, and she felt her heart swell.

If she hadn’t been a royal, she’d told him once, scientific research may have taken her here anyway. The wild called to her as nothing else did.

It was nice to know he understood.

She watched him push forward a little, gently moving through the rocks and coral, before reaching out with a hand.

When he returned, there was a tiny seahorse latched to his finger. Link’s eyes were bright in his mask, and he held the tiny creature up for Zelda to study before placing it delicately back in a safe hiding place.

She motioned that she was going to surface, and Link followed suit.

When they emerged, she pulled the snorkel out of her mouth. “I read about an underwater cave nearby― it’s too dangerous to go in without equipment, but maybe we can look at it from the outside?”

“Lead the way,” Link said, grinning.

They swam lazily along the reef. It was a raised section of the bay, a barrier that separated the calm beach from the open ocean beyond, and they kept to the shallower beach-side waters. The colours never stopped. There were a hundred species of fish, and too many bottom-dwellers for Zelda to count. Father had signed an order two years ago, she remembered, to preserve natural heritage sites like this one, and her heart tightened with gratitude.

They surfaced, and Zelda gestured to Link. “The cave is on the ocean side. The waters may be a bit more choppy.”

“We’ll stick together,” Link said, treading. Then, cheekily, he added, “And if you see any monsters, scram.”

“Great strategy,” Zelda laughed, pulling her snorkel back into her mouth.

The waters on the ocean side weren’t just choppier, their waves more powerful. They were also colder. It wasn’t a drastic difference, especially not near the surface, but as Zelda looked down as the continental shelf sloped away into the vast darkness, she could feel the cold emanating from the depths, and for a moment she was afraid.

Link swam near, and she regained her senses. Nonsense, she thought. She wasn’t going down there. They were staying here, near the barrier reef and the surface. Besides, there were no predator warnings at this time of year. And she was here because she was interested in a little spookiness, after all.

The cave gaped into the side of the continental shelf like a maw. There were no fish there, and the waters within were dark blue and murky, with only scarce sea flora to line its entrance. A tongue of sand poured out on its floor, leading down into the depths, and its every surface looked smoothed by the currents and the waves. A dangerous place, Zelda’s primitive brain decided. The sort of place no sane explorer would venture without advanced scuba equipment.

There were  _ some  _ expeditions into the cave, she knew. She had seen the pamphlets. But the thought of the dark confinement hadn’t appealed to her or to Link, so they’d opted for snorkeling instead.

There was buzzing sound. On the barrier reef above the cave, the fish darted, disturbed.

Turning around, Zelda saw the boat engine churning a thick line of foam in the water, and her heart seized.

She surfaced, and Link followed a second later.

The camera lenses were on them, the boat steadily approaching with a level of noise that completely destroyed the peace and isolation they’d been building. The paparazzi were still far away, but they were getting nearer by the second.

Were they were going to slow down? Zelda wondered, afraid.

“Come on,” Link said. She did not imagine the grim irritation in his voice. He inhaled, then dove under the surface, pushing as hard as his legs could take him. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of an interview, that was for sure.

Zelda followed him, inhaling, then pushing below the surface, grateful for her flippers.

The water deeper below them was undeniably colder now, and the water was difficult to swim in.

Stupid, Zelda thought. So stupid. The bay area inside the reef was protected and guarded, but the outside was considered provincial waters, and paparazzi boats were allowed there, same as any boat. If she’d only stayed inside the reef―

She felt her arms shivering against the cold, and then, something caught her flipper.

Her foot swayed sideways, towards the cave, and Zelda realized she’d dived deeper than necessary, and now her foot was cold, and a current― the current was pulling her in.

She pushed up, but her other flipper swayed, and her movement was nothing but a clumsy fumble.

Overhead, the boat circled once, twice, and then left, no doubt from warning by a coast watcher that they were straying too close to a protected area.

But that didn’t matter. Zelda could feel the cold pulling her towards the cave. It loomed larger and larger in her vision, but she kept pushing against the current, trying desperately not to be sucked into its icy darkness. That, she knew, would be death.

It was useless. She wasn’t strong enough, and her lungs were beginning to burn.

Link’s hand closed on her wrist, and he pulled her sideways.

She felt the current release her as though it had never even truly held her. As Link pulled her sideways away from the cave, she felt her lungs burning and her eyes stinging, fear and adrenaline pumping in her veins.

They surfaced with twin gasps, Link still holding on to her, and she tried desperately to inhale more air, pushing against the water.

He pulled her in, turning her around and boosting her against his chest.

It was several minutes before she was calm enough to regain her senses. Pushing away from Link, she took her mask off and blinked at him in the sunlight.

“I thought― I thought I was―”

“Come on,” Link said, gently. There was a hardness in his eyes, a fury she felt her heart tremble to behold. Another boat— this one marked with the colors of the Royal Guard— was trundling their way, and Zelda realized Link must have punched the waterproof panic button sewn into the pocket of his swim trunks. “I need to talk to a man.” He began to swim towards the approaching Guards. “About a boat.”

* * *

“ _ Do you know what might have  _ happened _ ? _ Where  _ were  _ you all?”

Link’s voice was muffled by the door, but he spoke so loudly Zelda could make his voice out without any trouble. Midna was rubbing her shoulders with a towel, and she was conspicuously silent.

“You  _ knew  _ we were going out there! You had  _ one  _ job, to keep those bastards away!”

“Mister Forester―”

“If she hadn’t been so distracted and spooked, she never would have put her life at risk!  _ Her life _ . Do you think I care that they drag my bloody name through the dirt? Do you think any of those bottom-feeders matter when it’s her life on the line?  _ No _ !”

Zelda inhaled. “I should―”

But Midna pushed her back into her chair. “Don’t,” she murmured. “I’ve never heard Link snap before, and he’s growing on me. Stealing the words right out of my mouth.”

“We were lucky that coast watcher was there to shield the reef, because those idiots might have actually torn us to shreds with their  _ fucking _ engine!” Now Link’s voice was hoarse from shouting. “Do you realize what losing her would do to me? To all of us? I understand I have no authority, and what I say doesn’t matter, but the next time I ask you to keep the boats out of the water, I hope you’ll  _ fucking do it _ !”

“We have the offenders in custody, Mr. Forester,” one of the Royal Guards said, appeasingly. “We assure you, they will be prosecuted to the fullest extent.”

“It’s not for me,” Link said, his voice finally softening. There was a pause. Now, his voice was almost pleading. “Do you understand? My life is  _ nothing _ . I’d have died for her out there. Am I really the only one who cares that she nearly died?”

“Of course not,” someone said.

“Absolutely not,” another replied.

“Please,” Link said. “Please help me keep her alive. Alive and happy. I just―” He sighed. “... I know you all did what you thought was best. I know the boat came from another port. I’m not mad at you. Not really. You acted in a way you thought would be sufficient. But we are going through a difficult time. Her reign is unsteady, and I can’t― I can’t be the reason she―” He exhaled heavily. “We’ll keep the swimming to a minimum, going forward. Will that make things easier for you?”

“Yes, sir,” said the discordant chorus of guards.

“Thank you. And please, if you ever foresee another problem, please tell me. This has to be a team effort. I will do my part, I promise.”

There was a cacophony of boot clicks, and then Link emerged from the hotel’s office, looking worn.

When his eyes landed on Zelda, he raised them accusingly at Midna. “I thought you’d take her back to the house.”

“And miss your righteous wrath?” Midna asked, but there was none of the usual bite in her tone.

“Link―” Zelda started, heart fluttering. “You didn’t have to― I could have spoken to them myself.”

“No,” Link said, placing his hands on her arms. “ _ You  _ are going to rest now. We’re going to plop you right by the side of the pool with an all-you-can-eat shrimp platter and enough booze to tranquilize an elephant, and then I’m going to fix it.”

“Fix it?” Zelda echoed, as he steered her down the hallway. This was a side of Link she’d never seen before, authoritative and firm, not at all like her soft-spoken gardener of a fiancé. “Fix what? They’ve put the paparazzi and the captain in jail for the night―”

“Not them,” Link said. “Although I wish I could go give those thrice-damned assholes a piece of my mind.” They exited into the sunlight, and now Link changed from steering her to holding her hand, hard, as though he couldn’t imagine letting her go ever again. “I nearly lost you today. You and I have a very uncanny habit of near-drowning. So from now on, let’s stick to three foot kiddie pools.”

Midna cackled from over Zelda’s shoulder.

“Second,” Link continued, firmly, “I have been letting you shoulder too much of this burden.”

“But―”

“You’ve been tackling so much of the fallout regarding our engagement, and I’ve been causing you nothing but problems. First Hilda, then Malon― And let’s not even mention how passive I’ve been during most of our interviews.”

“I liked your appearance on Urbosa’s show,” Midna lightly said.

“A rare exception in a sea of vague passiveness,” Link said. “Enough is enough. The Senate will never support me unless I show them more rigidity, and I’m only sorry it took this long for me to see it.”

“I like your gentleness,” Zelda softly said, when they closed in on their beach house.

Link turned to her, and his hands went to cup her face. Now his eyes  _ were  _ gentle, pleading. “I can’t lose you. I’ll always be yours. I can, and will, be gentle when it’s just you and me. But I can’t be the pliant reed in public. Not anymore. They need an unyielding oak.”

“Here we go again with the plant references.”

“Shut up, Midna,” Link said, without even looking at her. His eyes were still on Zelda’s. “Let me do my part. I promise I’ll figure it out. I’ll fix it.”

She placed a hand over his on her cheek, giving him a wobbly smile. “I trust you.”

The boat was not watertight, and Link didn’t know how to fix that.

At least it floated, he thought, watching as the bottom filled with water. Some palm fruit were bobbing on the surface at his feet ― his reserves if he should be stranded out at sea for very long.

But this entire project was a pitiful display.

“No shipwrights in your family line, then, eh, Forester?” He mumbled to himself, adjusting the palm leaf over his head. That would shield him from the worst of the sun (and the rain, if it came to that). He tested the sturdiness of his craft by pushing it into a wave, and the boat inched forward obediently.

He was still in shallow waters. If he hopped out and stood in the water, he’d no doubt touch the sand. It was safer to test his construction here before leaving the relative safety of the fringing reef.

Gods, he hoped it worked. Because if Plan A didn’t work, he didn’t have a Plan B. Or C.

He’d tentatively named his boat ―if it could still be called that― the Red Lion. It was good luck, he knew, to name your boat before you put it to sea, and he’d reconstructed it from such a state of damage that he considered it to be a new boat entirely. Red Lion was a sorry-looking craft, but it wasn’t taking on more water, and Link became more and more confident that it might, after all, hold its lowered waterline fairly well.

He hoped.

Time was of the essence. He still wasn’t completely sure what day it was. Or how much time he had left.

Time to get underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Just a reminder..._  
**Lyx:** We may not be Madame Fanadi…  
**CM:** But comments are appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** SHARP INHALE  
**CM:** WHAT IF ZELDA HAS SHORT HAIR  
**CM:** BECAUSE THEY DON’T WANT CLIPPING WHEN SHE FIGHTS  
**Lyx:** *ded*  
**CM:** Yes!!  
**Lyx:** are you trying to kill me tho  
**CM:** BUT WHAT IF, LYX  
**CM:** FUCKING WHAT IFFFF  
**Lyx:** We need a badass, competent, keeps-up-with-the-hero-Zelda. We NEED it.  
**CM:** Yesssssssss. I needs it. Takeses my rupeeses.

The rest of the day passed without incident, and Zelda and Link went to bed early. Link tossed and turned all night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he could do to make things better for Zelda. When he did, at last, sleep, he had dreams of seeing Zelda pulled towards that dark cave by the undertow, except it wasn’t the undertow dragging her down but him, his fingers locked around her slender ankle, watching as she thrashed in the cold…

Suffice to say, he woke up feeling like hell.

They took coffee on the verandah, where they shared a table with Groose and Midna. The redheaded security guard was grumbling into his breakfast about “bashing those idiot paparazzi’s skulls together.” Midna, meanwhile, was delightedly teasing Groose about his choice in breakfast in a clear bid to distract everyone.

“I mean, you’re this big, burly, ferocious security guard,” she said with delighted incredulity. “And you eat yogurt for breakfast.  _ Yogurt. _ With granola and dainty little fruit toppings.”

“There’s nothing wrong with yogurt,” Groose said defensively. “It’s tasty and good for you. It contains probiotics.”

“Probiotics,” Midna scoffed. “Shouldn’t a big, handsome fellow like you be eating, I don’t know, three pounds of bacon and two dozen hardboiled eggs?”

Groose looked at her askance for a moment, then grinned.

“Well-lll now, m’lady,” he said, flashing what he clearly thought was a suave smile. “So you think I’m handsome, do you?”

Midna studied him with every evidence of being mightily unimpressed.

“Honey, don’t even try. I eat men like you for breakfast. And you, apparently, eat yogurt.”

A soft giggle came from Zelda, and Link saw that tiny tense lines around both Midna and Groose’s eyes eased. Link felt a surge of emotion wash through him. So many people loved and cared for Zelda. So many people just wanted her to be happy, wanted to see her smile.

Why was it that everything he did seemed to have the opposite effect lately? Granted, he wasn’t directly making her miserable, but in terms of cosmic scales, he seemed to be pulling a net negative where she was concerned.

“So,” said Midna, twirling her own spoon in the air, “what’s the plan for today, lovebirds? No more daring adventures?”

“No, I quite think we’ve put that behind us,” Zelda said as she buttered a piece of toast. “And actually, I’ve been thinking. We should do something as a group.”

“I could arrange a pool party,” Midna offered. “Or a beach party. Mandatory fun. Or…” she looked contemplatively first at Groose, then at Link. She grinned, and the impish expression sent a cold trickle of fear down Link’s spine. “We could do a wet t-shirt contest… boys only, of course.”

“Then I guess I won’t be able to compete, seeing as I’m a  _ man _ and all,” Groose said, unsubtly flexing a bicep.

“Please,” chuffed Midna.

“I don’t think objectifying our friends is a suitable way to spend the afternoon either,” Zelda said, though now there was definite laughter in her voice. “No. How about something sporty?”

“Like wind sailing?”

“Not allowed near water,” Zelda said, nudging Link with her elbow.

“How about beach volleyball?” Groose poked his finger upwards in the air. “We can form everyone into teams.”

“We’ll need a trophy or prize for the winners,” Midna suggested. “It needs to be something good.”

“Something unexpected,” Groose agreed.

“Like a copy of Hilda’s book?” Link ventured.

Three sets of eyes shot to Link. He resisted the urge to squirm under the sudden scrutiny.

“That,” Midna said after a moment, “is brilliant. Yes. Absolutely.” Her eyes narrowed, glittering. “I can stream it and put it on Quiver. Counteract all her bad press.” She grinned. “Link, I’d kiss you, but it would be treason against my queen.”

“You should autograph it, Link” said Groose. “Have a big, fake ceremony and everything.”

Midna nodded along. “Brilliant. Yes. I’m going to dispatch a minion to go fetch a copy from the nearest bookstore immediately.”

She rose from the table, leaving her grapefruit half-eaten, and glided away, all long leg and polished pedicure.

“I wish she wouldn’t call them minions,” Zelda said on a sigh. “Someday she’ll get in trouble for that.”

“Well, it’s accurate,” said Groose. “That’s what we lowly peasants are, after all.”

“Oh, please,” Zelda said. But she was smiling now, really smiling, and Link’s heart lifted at the sight of it. “Not you too.”

“‘Fraid so.” Groose grinned and returned his attention to his food. “I’ll finish this up and start arranging teams. We’ll meet in an hour. You can judge, Majesty.”

“What about me?” Link asked as Groose tucked in.

“You?” Groose swallowed a mouthful of yogurt and waggled his brows. “You get to play for the honor of your lady.”

“But if I win, then aren’t I awarding the trophy to myself?”

Groose flapped his hand.

“Trust me,” he said. “You aren’t coordinated enough to play volleyball. You’re sunk.”

Link felt a little of the competitive spirit flare in his stomach.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” the burly guard said. “I’ve seen you run, wimp. You’re toast.”

* * *

Zelda had to admit: although she’d started the day in a bit of a funk, watching Link play volleyball was definitely curing her of her ennui.

“Oh my,” Paya murmured in delight from Zelda’s side. They were sipping on fruity virgin cocktails as they lounged about in the morning sun, watching the game unfold. Midna sat on Paya’s other side, looking perfect as usual. While Paya wasn’t playing on account of a recovering ankle injury sustained a few months earlier, Midna was abstaining on principle: “Countesses do not frolic in the sand. Besides, who will ogle you all if I’m busy running around after a silly ball?”

So it happened that Zelda got to watch her very handsome, very well-built fiancee sweat in the sun, accompanied by amusing commentary from her two best friends.

“I’m not saying that I wish you ill or anything,” Midna said casually as she stirred her strawberry-kiwi soda with a drink straw, “but if you happen to, I don’t know, perish in an untimely accident, I’d be happy to comfort your grieving widower.”

“And I don’t wish to be crass,” Paya added, “but such an awful lot of Link was covered when he was working in my gardens that I never really got the full scope of his glory.”

“I don’t think  _ any _ of us have gotten the full scope of that,” said Midna, “except for our very lucky queen here. Truly, the Goddess’ mythical blood must run through your royal veins. Nothing else explains how you managed to score such a nauseatingly perfect man.”

Out on the sand, Link leapt into the air and spiked the ball hard. It flew over the net, bonked against Groose’s head (“my pompadour!”) and bounced out of bounds.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Zelda said, taking another sip as she watched Link’s golden muscles flex under the sun. “Maybe you can walk out to Paya’s garden and pick yourself a handsome gardener. It’s worked well for both of us so far.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Paya agreed, watching as Granté slapped Link on the back in congratulations. Both the men were laughing. “It did indeed.”

“Gardeners? Ha.” Midna plucked the ornamental flower out of her drink and tucked it behind her ear. “They’re a little too earthy for me.”

“Security guards, on the other hand…” Paya murmured, clearly trying for innuendo and failing.

“Oh, stop,” Midna said dryly. “He may be cute, but I don’t sleep with friends. Only handsome strangers I never have need of again.”

“So you admit he’s a friend, then?” Zelda asked, watching said security guard as he attempted to finger-comb his pompadour back into place, all while shouting at Link, who (alongside Granté) was doubled over in laughter. Groose’s teammates looked irritated, and finally Fi came over to drag him back to the proper side of the net so they could resume the game.

“Of course he’s a friend,” Midna said. “He’s one of Link’s best friends, and if Link had the good sense to fall in love with you, he must be able to choose decent company.”

Zelda paused with her drink midway to her lips.

“Midna,” she said, unexpectedly touched. “Are you acknowledging that someone other than you has taste?”

“Don’t push it.” Even still, a few moments later, Zelda felt Midna’s hand reach out and grasp her own. The Countess’ fingers curled around Zelda’s.

“He’s a good choice,” Midna said in an undertone. “Not just for you as Zelda, but for you as the Queen. He’s the best match for you in every way. Please don’t ever forget that.”

“You’re being unusually sentimental,” Zelda said, trying for lightness and failing. “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”

On the volleyball court, Groose’s team sent the ball flying. Link dove, but missed, skidding in the sand. He popped up, scowling, and began to brush sand off of his skin. The sight of it made Zelda’s mouth water and her heart soften.

“I know things have been unfair,” Midna said. “And I know how heavily it’s been weighing on you. But everyone is wrong. He’s amazing, and he’s perfect for you. I really do think he’s worth it, Zel.”

“As do I,” Paya agreed. “Not that you particularly need our input or blessing.”

“No, I don’t,” Zelda agreed, wondering how she could surreptitiously wipe her eyes behind her sunglasses. “But I appreciate it anyway.”

The game went on for a while longer, and though Link, Granté, and their team put up a valiant fight, they weren’t quite able to outscore Groose’s team. Midna had been intermittently filming the absurdity from her phone, and when it came time for Zelda to award the grand prize—and for Link to sign it—she whipped out the little device again.

“Be natural,” Midna told Zelda as she unlocked her phone and moved to the side for an optimal recording angle.

“It would be easier to be natural if you weren’t giving me instructions,” Zelda said. But she nevertheless turned her attention away from her friend. She gripped the copy of Hilda’s book that a helpful minion had recently retrieved and donned the persona that she had mentally labeled “I’m the queen, don’t mess with me.”

“I, Zelda Bosphoramus Hyrule, am pleased to award this illustrious manuscript to the winners of today’s volleyball game,” Zelda intoned solemnly, holding the book aloft with two hands. Their friends began to hoot and holler, and Zelda felt a smile creeping across her face in spite of her best attempts to stay serious. “This manuscript details the ancient and noble history of Our future husband, and should be treated with all due respect,” she continued.

“Read us an excerpt,” shouted someone at the back.

Zelda obediently lowered the book and flipped it open to a random page. Her eyes landed on the text and she looked up at Link.

He looked at her for a moment, then grinned.

“How about I read it?” he said instead, pitching his voice to carry. The assembly cheered, and he strode forward. He took one side of the book with one hand and looped his other arm around Zelda, leaving her holding the other half of the book. He cleared his throat above her head and began to read.

“Link Forester is a man who tries hard, but doesn’t usually succeed,” he said, his voice accompanied by the crash of the waves. “Though he does earnestly wish to be a good partner and friend, he lacks the emotional stability necessary to do so. He has no good friends or even anything like family, save for the other orphaned children he grew up with.” He looked up at the group. “What do you think. Do I have any good friends?”

The good friends in question all roared out an affirmative. In the middle of the crowd, Groose crowed a cock-a-doodle-doo. Zelda snickered as Granté scaled the big man and sat on his shoulders. Groose held Granté’s legs while Granté flapped his elbows, buck-bucking like a cuckoo. Link laughed too, then returned his attention to the book as Granté slid off Groose’s shoulders.

“But I can say these things in his favor,” Link continued. “He’s a hard worker and he’s handsome enough. How generous of her,” he commented. He looked at Zelda and quirked a brow. “You’re too good for putting up with all of my egregious flaws.”

“Finish reading,” she said, bumping him with her shoulder. But her phone had begun to buzz in her back pocket, throbbing and insistent. 

Nobody would be calling her unless it was an emergency.

“Allow me to provide an anecdote from our time together,” Link continued reading. The phone kept on ringing, and Zelda carefully extricated herself from his side. “Let me tell you, friend, about the time that Link tried to take me for a date at― oh, honestly?” Link’s voice was full of amused disbelief. “She’s really sharing this one? Alright, then. Who wants to hear about the time I tried to take Hilda to the moon carnival in Goponga?”

There was a roar of agreement from their friends. Zelda slipped away and made her way in the direction of the hotel, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. She checked the caller ID: it was her secretary. She swiped to take the call.

“Gonzo? Is everything alright?”

“I should be the one asking that. Are  _ you _ alright?”

“If this is about the paparazzi incident—”

“The what?”

Zelda felt her stomach sinking.

“Gonzo,” she said slowly, “Why are you calling me?”

“Well,” Gonzo said, “the news broke that Link took you into open water, then berated hotel staff for not having a lifeguard following the two of you.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“It’s all over the news, and… oh, majesty, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look like you’ll have the votes the referendum about Link’s position as king in two days.”

“What?!?”

“...so long story short, you need to come back and do some serious persuasion,  _ fast _ .”

“Goddess.” Zelda felt her good mood deflating like a popped balloon. “This is a mess.”

“I know,” said Gonzo. “And I’m sorry. I wouldn’t bother you, but it’s really an emergency…”

“You’re right,” Zelda said grimly. “It is. Alright.” She pinched the skin at the bridge of her nose. “I can’t make it back today. But…” She did some swift mental arithmetic. “I can leave first thing tomorrow. Set up meetings for me beginning at noon.”

“I will. I’m sorry.”

“I know, I know,” Zelda said with a sigh. “It’s an emergency. Can you make the arrangements?”

He could. Zelda thanked him and hung up, slipping the phone back into her pocket. She pulled her hands through her hair and started in the direction of the makeshift Royal Guard’s outpost where her protectors had set up a discreet camp. They weren’t going to like this change in plans. They’d have to file a new flight plan, close down the roads... 

“What a mess,” she muttered. Link was going to be so upset once she told him she was leaving… and worse, he was going to be so hurt when he heard why…

Who was leaking information to the press? Certainly it wasn’t a friend of theirs… at least, Zelda didn’t think so. Zelda trusted all of her friends absolutely, and Link’s friends who had come along were ferociously loyal. Was it one of the staff, perhaps the same person who had alerted the paparazzi a few days ago…?

As she rounded a corner, she spotted a familiar figure. The surprise of seeing him here momentarily shook her from her funk and she found herself smiling.

“Byrne,” she said in delight. “I didn’t realize Midna had brought you along too. Why aren’t you at the volleyball game?”

Her childhood friend and current official calligrapher blinked surprised umber eyes at her.

“Volleyball game?” He repeated.

“A little competition, really,” Zelda said. “Did Groose forget to come get you?”

“Oh,” he said. Clarity dawned on his face. “ _ Oh. _ I must not have heard him knocking at the door. Sorry, Majesty. I’m a heavy sleeper.”

“None of that majesty business,” Zelda said firmly. “How many times do I have to tell you? We’re old friends.”

“Right,” Byrne agreed. He looked uncomfortable, though, so Zelda decided to change the subject. It was a little awkward that she was technically also his employer, she supposed.

“Will you be joining us at the pool party in a few minutes? Everyone’s all hot from playing volleyball, and seeing as I’m no longer allowed to go into the ocean…”

“No,” Byrne said quickly. Zelda startled in surprise, and he grinned and rubbed the back of his neck in abashment. “No,” he said again, less urgently this time. “I’m afraid I can’t. Miss Malon just sent some last-minute work that I do need to get to.”

Zelda grimaced in sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I do appreciate all your hard work, though. I know this wedding hasn’t been exactly convenient for any of us…” She trailed off unhappily, ruminating on the awfulness of everything.

“With you at the center, the ceremony will be beautiful,” Byrne assured her. “Though you aren’t… having second thoughts, are you?” His voice sounded very odd, and Zelda snapped out of her unhappy ruminations.

“What? No, not at all,” she said. “But I just got news that parliament is being incredibly difficult, especially in light of yesterday’s news leak, and I have to cut my trip short to run back and deal with the situation.” She shook her head. “Backwards goats.”

Byrne nodded in commiseration. He looked uncomfortable, and Zelda took pity on him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said. “I need to go talk to the Royal Guard about travel arrangements. See you later? Dinner, maybe?”

“Maybe,” he said. “If I get enough done.”

“Alright,” Zelda agreed. “See you, Byrne.”

“See you,” he echoed. She turned her back on him and continued through the hotel, making her way towards the royal guards’ commandeered rooms. And as her mind cycled through all of the things she needed to do to persuade her useless parliament to allow her to marry the man she loved, the odd encounter with Byrne was forgotten.

* * *

“You’re moping,” Granté said. Link turned a baleful eye on him.

“Of course he’s moping,” Groose grumbled, downing another massive daiquiri ―Link didn’t know Groose loved daiquiris. “He’s spending his honeymoon away from his future wife while trapped with you.”

“With  _ us _ ,” Granté pointed out. But it was a poor joke, and he knew it. 

Link ignored them. He was drafting a letter for the Senate, and was acutely aware of his lack of writing ability. Zelda was infinitely better at wording his ideas. She had a way of expressing her mind that he simply didn’t, and now her absence felt like a gaping hole in his thoughts.

“Link,” Granté tried again, “seriously, you need to stop worrying. She said she could handle it―”

“I made a promise,” Link interrupted. “I promised I wouldn’t let her down. And it’s time the Senate heard my voice, or at least my words.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t have many words to show yet. He scowled at the paper pad in front of him, willing convincing words to appear out of thin air. So far, all he’d managed to muster was fairly pitiable:

_ Esteemed members of the Senate of Hyrule, _

_ I am in love with Zelda, your queen. _

That was it. He had a fairly lengthy amount of cursing he also wanted to append to that statement, as well as a frightening plethora of threats, but he thought perhaps that would not have the effect he necessarily desired.

Granté and Groose were not being helpful.

“You could tell them you’ve already slept together. Don’t they have to let you marry her if you’ve consummated?”

“If that’s your subtle way of asking for details,” Groose said, making noise with the straw of his daiquiri, “you suck at it.”

“I’m not that crass,” Granté said. “But there’s gotta be a law in your favour.”

“The point isn’t marrying her,” Groose rightly pointed out. “She can marry who she wants. It’s that she also wants someone to rule with her; that’s the reason she’s bothering with the Senate. If she wanted just another subject in her bed, none of this would be necessary.”

“No offense,” Granté said, as Link tried really hard to ignore them both, “but I can’t fully blame them. Who’d want Link for Prince consort, let alone as King? He’d be insufferably upright and exemplary. I mean, he’s got  _ gardening  _ as a hobby. That’s the least sordid thing in the world. He’d be so boring they’d have to return to bickering amongst themselves for entertainment in just a few weeks.”

“They don’t want me because I don’t already have a title,” Link groused. His pen was hovering over the line of the paper pad, but words did not come out. “And because I’m as lowborn as can be. That’s why I’m not worthy of her.”

“Now that,” another voice said from the terrace gate, “is simply not true.”

Granté turned in his chair, and Groose lifted his gaze. When Link glanced up from the pad, his eyes met those of Lord Byrne ― Zelda’s calligrapher. He blinked.

“Lord Byrne,” he said, by way of greeting. “I thought you’d gone back to the capital.” With his future wife. And queen.

The tall dark lord shook his head humbly. “She gave strict orders not to interrupt the party any more than was necessary. I will return only later tonight.”

Link’s mood darkened. She’d fled Lurelin before he could argue against it. Byrne was not telling him something of which he wasn’t already painfully aware. “I appreciate that you asked, at least.”

Byrne inclined his head humbly. “I serve at her leisure.” His eyes went to the pad, and he seemed embarrassed. “Perhaps… might I be of assistance?”

A royal calligrapher― Link would be a fool to refuse. “If you don’t mind. Your advice may well save the wedding.”

Byrne approached, glancing at the pad. His brow raised, but he otherwise did not comment on Link’s piss-poor draft. “I see that words have failed you,” he commented mildly.

Link snorted, his first half-laugh since Zelda had left. “That’s one way to put it.” He gestured vaguely with the pen. “All I can think about it my anger and frustration. Every thought I have feels fleeting, hard to phrase. Flowers are easier.”

“That does sound like a problem,” Byrne conceded. He sat in one of the terrace chairs and extended his hand. “May I?”

Link gratefully relinquished the pen and paper. “In your opinion,” he said, “would the Senate respond better to fear, or to cajoling?”

Byrne frowned thoughtfully at the paper, the pen poised and ready to strike. “They would certainly much prefer to be told what they want to hear.” His voice had taken on a distant quality, a mark of deep thought Link knew better than to interrupt. Then, rejoining the present moment, the calligrapher said, “Would you allow me to draft a first version?”

Link’s gratitude was hard to express. He motioned. “Please. By all means.”

“Alright,” Granté said, pulling Groose up by the sleeve. “I think it’s time for us to take a walk before we realize how essential we are to your creative process.”

Byrne did not reply, absorbed as he was by his task, but Link snorted. “Fine, cowards. Go play on the beach.”

“You know,” Groose said, as they walked away, “maybe this is actually a golden opportunity…” He leaned in to speak to Granté in low tones, but Link wasn’t paying attention anymore. Together, he and Byrne set out to write the most politely scathing letter ever written by a frustrated fiancé.

* * *

It was only much later that day, as the sun began to set over the eastern horizon, that Link realized what Groose had meant by ‘golden opportunity’.

He stared at the party barge with mild alarm. It was already blaring music all over the bay, and Link recognized it as one of the many barges they had seen floating offshore in the evenings, loud even across the water, their lights and pounding music no doubt disturbing to all but the deepest fish.

“You have to be kidding me,” Link said, shaking his head. He and Zelda had spent many a late evening laughing at the pounding music wafting over the waves, usually before getting busy with other activities that required no music and fewer clothes.

“Stag party,” Groose said firmly, his hands moving as though he were illustrating the words in the air. “You, me, your closest guy friends, and a hundred random strangers who all promised not to judge.” He leaned forward, raising his brows. “And if they do judge, they’re under the harshest NDA I’ve ever personally overseen as Chief of Security. What happens on the party barge,” he finished emphatically, “stays on the party barge.”

Link could tell that Groose meant it. Over his shoulder, the party had already begun, with a local, buxom brunette lasciviously dancing with a pineapple. She was either drunk or high off her rocker. Next to her, several of their work friends were cheering, watching as Granté tried to pop open a bottle of champagne using nothing but the flat edge of a sharp knife.

Bad decisions were going to be made. Link tried not to grimace, and began to back away. “I think, maybe, I should go back and check on Byrne―”

Groose’s hand on his shoulder was firm. “Listen, man,” he said. “You’ve been at that letter all day. Byrne said he was going to clean it up and print it out for publication with the Senate. You’ve done all you could for today.”

Link knew that was true. Byrne had promised to take his letter directly to the capital, since he was flying back overnight. Link had thanked him profusely, and they’d spent half an hour just talking about Zelda, who was their sole connection. There was no doubt in Link’s mind that Byrne would do anything for her, and he’d expressed his gratitude repeatedly, until the calligrapher had excused himself in embarrassment.

It was a good letter, Link told himself. Sensitive, sensible, intelligent, strong. He’d signed the printed copy personally, and Byrne had sworn to ensure it got exactly where it needed to go. What more could he do?

“Link,” Groose said, calling him back to the moment. “It’s okay. You need to relax, man. You’re getting married next week. Enjoy this while you still can.”

Link stared apprehensively at the barge. Then, with a sigh, he relented. “Fine.”

“Yes,” Groose said, firmly. “Yes! Good! Oh, man,” he promised, pulling Link up the gangplank, “you’ll see when we get underway. You won’t regret it.”

* * *

Link regretted everything.

The water past the reef barrier was choppy and the waves were hard, hitting his broken boat furiously. And it wasn’t even a particularly windy day. He pushed as much as he could to bring the Red Lion into the waves, to breach them with the prow that was still intact and sturdy. That would be his only way to overcome the hard barrier waters. He could see out in the open ocean that the waves were longer, smoother― if he could make it out there, he thought, maybe he stood a chance to pick a direction.

The palm fruit at his feet were floating on the water that had infiltrated his boat.They knocked against his legs periodically, distracting him. And that was without counting the uneven length of his oars. Not for the first time, Link counted himself lucky that gardening had strengthened him, that so many hours wielding a shovel and lifting clay, dirt and mud had built him up.

Still, he regretted this. Maybe staying behind had been the wiser choice. Surely, at some point, someone would have visited the little island he was leaving. Surely he’d only have had to signal once or twice.

But it was too late. The waves were hard, and the boat threatened to capsize the moment he even let it drift sideways, away from the proper angle. There was no other way to go but forward.

“I am Link Forester, future husband of Queen Zelda of Hyrule,” he grunted to himself as the waves slammed his oars, or he slammed his oars into the waves. “I am Link Forester, and I am going to marry her or die trying.” His teeth were clenched. “I will marry her,” he repeated, “or die trying.”

When he broke into the open waters, he was exhausted.

But he was free of danger.

He glanced at the sky, blinking to make sense of the position of the sun, of the lateness of the hour.

And, resolutely putting the falling sun to his right, he began to paddle north.

* * *

“More shots!” Granté shouted, which earned him the roaring acclaim of everyone near them on the party barge.

Link was already feeling pretty woozy. While the barge was large enough to stabilize the motion of the waves, the surge of the undercurrents still managed to make it sway up and down slowly. Combined with the pounding music and the shrieking chatter of both his old friends and their new local friends, the experience was turning out to be rather painful and nauseating.

“Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!”

“I need a break,” Link protested, but already someone had sprinkled his hand with salt and he was holding a large shot of some sort of mescal drink― “Nooo―”

“Shots!” Granté convincingly said, and Link conceded, licking the salt on his hand and downing the shot in one grimacing gulp. He barely had time to gasp in disgust when a lemon wedge was being shoved into his mouth.

“Mrrr mmss!” Granté said, and by now Link was fluent in drunk lemon-mouth speak to know he was urging for more shots. But he was feeling decidedly less stable than he had earlier.

“I need to take a piss,” Link shouted over the music.

“Mrrrmmm-hhmph,” Granté said. His friend was so drunk he probably wasn’t even listening. Instead, he shot Link a lemon-rind smile, then turned his attention to a pretty, pale-haired girl who looked a lot like Link’s old employer, only more scantily dressed.

Relieved to have even a moment of reprieve, Link did not linger near Granté. There were little cabins at the back of the barge for toilets, in the event guests were still sober enough not to piss over the railing, and it was there Link would most likely have a few minutes of solid peace. He weaved through the dancing throng, vastly slowed by the excitement of all those who recognized him as the bachelor of this specific bachelor party. Over there, Groose was eating fruit pieces off the stomach of a lean, giggling redhead. To the side, two of his ex-colleagues were arguing about who could grow the tallest rosebush, and seemed ready to come to blows over the matter.

Finding the deserted cabins of the toilet was a relief. The cabins were behind the majority of the speakers on the barge, so the sound felt muffled, far more manageable.

Link gripped his head, shutting his eyes firmly to try to prevent the spread of a massive headache. He was going to loathe this tomorrow morning.

_ I should have said no to this _ , he thought again.  _ I should have accompanied Zelda home _ .

Too late for that, anyway. But he would go back to Castle Town tomorrow. There was no enjoyment to this trip without her, and anyway she needed him. And he needed her.

Even thinking about having her in his arms again felt like a balm. He really was stupid for her.

All he had to do was survive this damn barge party.  _ Just a few more hours, surely _ , he thought to himself. What time was it? It had to be past midnight. Maybe even closing in on one in the morning. They couldn’t keep going indefinitely. The barge owners had to have permit limits. Or alcohol limits. Or even insurance limits, right?

Right?

Gods, he was waiting to leave his own bachelor party. Did that make him a loser? Hilda had always accused him of being a boring homebody.

_ But I want to see Zelda _ , he argued with himself. Surely that was a good thing― wanting to spend time with your future wife― rather than a bad sign?

The barge was swaying dangerously. He emptied his bladder, then washed his hands― and the barge began to sway more. He held himself up on the doorjamb to the tiny cabin. His ears were ringing. All those pounding speakers… that had to be bad for his hearing. And his vision was blurry. Too much alcohol.

“Oha,” one of the local guests greeted, swaying towards him as Link stumbled out. “You look like you don’t have a sailor’s leg, friend.”

That was true. “Gardens are my thing,” Link replied.

Or at least, that was what he tried to reply. The words that actually came out of his mouth felt like cotton and sounded like a mumble. He blinked stupidly at the barge’s floor as it danced under him.

“You alright, friend?” The voice of the guest sounded distant. Floaty. Link frowned at his own feet, confused.

Had he had  _ that  _ much to drink?

A hand landed on his shoulder, but Link could hardly react.

“Come on, then,” the disembodied hand said. “Let’s see if we can’t get you somewhere you’ll feel better.”

The rest was a series of flashes. Laughter. Pounding music. A rocking boat. Derision. The smash of hammers splintering wood. Sand. Sand and water. Wind. Zelda’s name on his lips. Zelda. Zelda. Zelda.

A splitting headache.

A blinding sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *after a long, LONG discussion of the many ways in which Ganon has died in the various Zelda games and whether any of those are referenced in the BOTW2 trailer*  
**Lyx:** Maybe we need to make a compilation. And a map.  
**CM:** I’m now picturing like a map with pins and red yarn and newspaper clippings, and us with wild hair and wild eyes like, “It’s all there! It was there all along, under our noses!”  
**Lyx:** I mean, you probably aren’t wrong.  
**CM:** Lyxie. Zelink or we riot. GASP DO YOU THINK ZELDA TOLD LINK WHAT SHE WAS GONNA TELL THE GREAT DEKU TREE  
**Lyx:** GOOD GOD I FUCKING HOPE SO GOD DAMN I SAID GOD DAMN.  
**CM:** *FLAILS HANDS*  
**Lyx:** *PRACTICING RIOTING*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** It’s Saturday night and plenty of youths are outside getting wasted in public. Me? Heading home sober to eat some Kraft Dinner mac n cheese. I win.  
**Lyx:** You absolutely win.  
**CM:** Yesterday evening at like 11:30 I was tipsy and playing BotW and I was like, man, Lyxie needs to be here  
**CM:** I was so tired I was making up really stupid puns  
**CM:** Like, I'd like to palmfruit your ass. Or, I'll give you an ancient screw  
**Lyx:** I feel like I missed out on something really beautiful.

Zelda didn’t like to excessively anthropomorphize, but she figured she could be forgiven for doing it just this once. She laid the splashy tabloid across Malon’s desk, proud that her hands weren’t shaking with the rage that clogged her throat.

“The headlines,” she said in a deceptively calm voice, “are screaming about Link again.”

Malon looked up at Zelda. The poor woman clearly hadn’t slept a wink in days. Her hair was frizzing out of its normal, careful knot. There were deep bags below her exhausted blue eyes.

“I know,” she said wearily.

“Damn it, Malon,” Zelda exploded. “What the hell is it that I’m paying you for? This has been going on for weeks, and every single solution you’ve brought me has backfired.”

Malon looked down quickly, but even so, Zelda saw the sudden tears filling the woman’s eyes. She looked at the tabloid, which featured a full-page picture of Link looking seriously loopy on a large yacht, captioned:

PARTY BOY PRINCE?

“How do they keep getting all these compromising pictures and stories?” Zelda demanded. “How have you and the Royal Guard not found and plugged our leak?”

“I don’t know,” Malon said, her voice very, very small. “If—if you want my resignation—”

And just like that, the fight went out of Zelda.

“No,” Zelda said wearily, sinking into the chair opposite Malon. “No, I don’t. Forgive me. It’s only, every headline sets back all my progress with parliament. I even flew home early and left Link with his friends, and that seems to have damned us just as much as staying with Link would have.”

Malon nodded wordlessly. She was still hiding her eyes. Zelda smoothed her hair back into her twist with a little more force than was necessary, cursing herself for the fool. What had she been thinking, shouting at Malon like that?

“I just don’t understand,” Zelda finally said. “Who could possibly have it in for Link this much… aside from Hilda, anyway,” she added with a frown.

Malon sniffled.

“About that,” she said. She dashed her eyes on the back of her hand and looked up at Zelda. “I’ve had the Royal Guard’s finance wizards do some digging, and it turns out that Hilda’s tell-all was commissioned.”

“What?!” Zelda felt her fingers curling into fists. “I’m going to sue the daylights out of that publishing house.”

Malon shook her head.

“It wasn’t commissioned by the publisher, but by a private citizen,” she said.

Zelda took a deep breath. “Do you know how much the commission was?”

Malon cited a figure that had Zelda releasing all that air on a sudden, surprised exhale.

“That book was commissioned by a private citizen with a lot of wealth, apparently.” Zelda tugged at one drop earring thoughtfully, anger making her mind whirl. “Given the timing—the book, the leaks—I can’t help but wonder if everything is connected.”

Malon nodded.

“That’s what we thought,” she said. “I and my team have been scouring all the leaks, looking for any sort of pattern, but so far nothing. The only discovery is that everything that’s been uploaded to Royalwatch or Quiver have been uploaded from one of the terminals in the Castle Town Library. We don’t know which one, though, and reviewing security footage hasn’t turned up anything.”

“I suppose it was too much to hope that someone would leave a neat little trail of breadcrumbs drawing us right to them,” Zelda said. “Damn it. We don’t know anything? We don’t know if this is one person or several? I can’t sound like a conspiracy theorist— I’m going to convince parliament that this is part of a deliberate smear campaign, I need evidence.”

“I know,” Malon said hollowly. “And we’re trying to find you some, I swear.”

Zelda resisted the urge to admonish the poor woman to try harder. It wasn’t her fault, really. Instead, Zelda stood. A knock sounded at the door.

“Just a moment,” Zelda called. In an undertone, she said, “Draw on as many of my personal resources as you need to get this done.” She straightened and tilted her chin up. “And now, I have a parliament to convince.”

She turned and opened the door, and was surprised to see Lord Byrne on the other side looking decidedly panicked.

“What now?” Zelda asked before she could help herself.

Wordlessly, the man held out his hand. In it was clutched a letter. Zelda took it and unfolded it, taking in the familiar scrawl. Her stomach dropped. Why had Link written to her, and what had Byrne looking so terrified…?

_ Majesty, _

_ I can no longer in good conscience continue to cause you grief. _

_ Though I care for you deeply, it has become clear to me that I can never be your husband. Your people will never accept me, and I don’t wish to ask you to choose between them and me. _

_ I hope you are able to find someone better for you. Someone nobler, kinder, better polished. Someone who can rule by your side. Someone that your people will love, and love you for choosing. I wish that person was me, but it’s not. _

_ I’ve made the decision to leave Hyrule. Please don’t look for me. _

_ Your loyal subject, _

_ Link Forester  _

Zelda read the letter again, and again, and again. There was no question about it: it was Link’s handwriting. Link’s signature.

Her fingers had gone numb, she noticed with some detachment.

“Who found this and when?” Zelda asked.

“Housekeeping discovered it this morning,” he said. “My flight out was delayed, and the Royal Guard asked me to bring it directly to you.”

“Is there any evidence of foul play?” Zelda asked.

Byrne shook his head. “None, Majesty.”

Zelda nodded once. “Very well. Malon,” she said, turning to her secretary, “please contact the Royal Guard and inform them that they are to track down Link Forester and bring him to the castle immediately.”

“Majesty?” Malon asked, confused and concerned. “What’s happened?”

“The letter said not to look for him,” Byrne added, also looking alarmed.

“Oh, I know what the letter said,” Zelda said darkly. “But he is  _ not _ going to break up with me by letter three days before our wedding. If he wants to call things off, he has to do that to my face.”

She folded up the letter and handed it to Malon. “Put this in my safe. Nobody else reads it. Nobody sees it. Byrne, how many people know about this?”

Byrne shrugged helplessly.

“Like I said, it was found by housekeeping,” he said. “So likely all of the hotel staff know.”

Damn it. Zelda nodded once.

“Bring me Groose and Granté,” she told him. “Before the end of the day. I want to talk to them about Link’s behavior at the party last night.”

“Alright,” said Lord Byrne, looking completely boggled. He watched as Zelda smoothed her dress. “What are you going to do?”

“I,” Zelda said darkly, “am going to put an end to this nonsense with parliament once and for all.”

Lord Byrne nodded, but the uncomfortable look on his face gave Zelda pause.

“What?”

“It’s only…” he cast around for words. “I mean… Not to second guess you, but…”

“Spit it out, Byrne.”

The man opened his massive hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Link has been struggling for a long time. Is it so surprising he’s run away?”

“Yes,” Zelda said. “It doesn’t match him at all.”

“Not your experience of him,” said Lord Byrne, looking even more uncomfortable. “But in his ex-girlfriend’s book—”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” The words lashed out of Zelda like the crack of a whip. “What that witch said about Link is nothing but half-truths and outright lies. I’m going to forget you brought it up, but only just this once. This is your only warning. Do you have anything else to add?”

Byrne shook his head.

“No, Majesty,” he said, his voice subdued.

Zelda nodded crisply.

“Good. Now go get me Groose and Granté.”

“Right away, Majesty.”

He departed the office at a fast clip. Zelda turned.

“I’ve already alerted the Royal Guard,” Malon said, pointing at her computer. “I’m leaving for a briefing with them momentarily.”

“Good,” Zelda said, anger and hurt and defiance swirling in her.

This wasn’t Link. This wasn’t like him, and she knew—knew beyond the shadow of any doubt—that he would never leave her.

Or if he did, it wouldn’t be like this: slinking off in the night with nothing but a letter.

No. There was something else going on, and by the Goddesses, Zelda was going to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

How long had he been rowing? He’d eaten three palm fruits so far, and he’d spent a full night on the waves.

As the sun promised to break in the east, Link blinked, realizing he had gone without sleep to keep paddling… And yet if he looked over his shoulder, the little island where he’d been stranded seemed still too close, its outline visible on the southern horizon.

Fuck. He wasn’t making any useful progress. How far away was he from the coast? He couldn’t even tell how much distance he’d covered, but he was beginning to suspect he was fighting against very strong currents. Without a point of reference, there was no telling.

A pit of dread formed in his stomach. He might die out here.

“Zelda,” he muttered. Her name had become his mantra, the very rhythm of his paddling. Zel-da. Down, pull. Zel-da. Down, pull.

But he wasn’t moving forward, really. Not for the first time, he feared… He feared that it would take hours  _ with  _ an engine to make it back. Anyone looking to kill him this way, or at least to get him out of the way, would have considered that. Deserted islands didn’t exist, unless they were too far from grocery stores to be convenient…

And if he was so far away, perhaps the search and rescue teams wouldn’t be looking for him in this area of the ocean.

Assuming there was a search and rescue team looking for him. He hoped there were ― he hoped…

Would Zelda even want him back after all this? Did she know it was foul play? How was he going to explain this?

* * *

The search and rescue coordinator had just vacated her office after a report ― fruitless and leadless― when Groose and Granté knocked at the door.

She looked up from her Lurelin sea charts and fixed them both with a stern look. “Gentlemen. Sit down, please.”

They looked like children who feared the scolding of their lives, but to their credit she also saw the dark circles under their eyes, the worry in the line of their shoulders, and the guilt―

“Ma’am, we’ve given everything we know to the coast guard. Link didn’t fall off― the barge had railings―”

Zelda didn’t indulge the possibility of Link having fallen overboard or drowning. It didn’t bear considering. It was bad enough when the search and rescue services had contacted her to begin sweeping the ocean for bodies. She’d received the call of a grief consultant, and nearly ripped his ears off.

Link wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead. She had a note from him. He was alive and… and it was beginning to look like he truly had run away.

As Groose and Granté fell silent, having spilled all the jumbled information they had ― information she knew the search operations already held ― she handed them the letter. It was Groose who read it first, and she watched with satisfaction as his brows knit together in confusion. The same happened when Granté scanned the text. Confusion. They, too, thought it was strange.

“Where―”

“It was delivered to me,” Zelda said, curtly. “And that is Link’s signature, right there.”

Granté shook his head. “No. He…” He shook his head again, and let the sheet slip to the surface of her desk with mild disgust. “There’s no way.”

“That  _ is  _ his signature, though,” Groose said.

“It’s his signature, but come on,” Granté said, turning to Groose. “He’s mad about her. He wouldn’t―” He turned to Zelda, as though remembering she existed and was right there. “Sorry, your Majesty. He wouldn’t, is all. I think.”

“I have an entire panel of advisors assuring me that he would,” Zelda said. She was tired. She was tired, and worried, and her heart kept squeezing painfully in her chest at the thought that Link was gone. She didn’t know where. And she didn’t know why. Or maybe she did. She rubbed at her eyelids to remove the fatigue from them… and to avoid looking at Link’s friends directly. “Be honest with me. Please. Did he say  _ anything _ …  _ Do  _ anything that…” Her eyes were prickling with hot tears, but she rubbed them away before they would notice. Or so she hoped. “Did you have any sign that this would happen?”

Groose saw the pain in her. She saw his gaze soften with sympathy, and she hated him a little for it. Granté, though, said, “There was nothing, Ma’am. He…” He shook his head. “I mean, he wasn’t  _ psyched  _ about the party.”

“Only because he felt bad,” Groose said. “He thought it wasn’t right, having fun in Lurelin while you were working so hard.”

“Yeah, he was bummed out,” Granté agreed. “He kept talking about wanting to go to bed, and we figured, hey, if he’s still worried, we need to get him more drunk.”

The image in her mind was not appealing. She’d seen the pictures. She knew how pretty the local girls had been. More importantly, though, she knew how poorly Link handled his liquor. For the millionth time, her thoughts circled back around. At first, she’d been so sure that Link hadn’t left her. But after a night without sleep, a night without any leads, any sign that the investigators could find of suspicious activity, she couldn’t help but wonder. Had he written that letter in a fit of drunkenness? Were the feelings on that page… were they the truth, unveiled by alcohol? They did say the truth lay in the bottle…

“Your Majesty,” Groose said, interrupting the downward spiral of her thoughts, “Link isn’t the guy the world keeps saying he is. If he was, you’d have known in a heartbeat. He would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Not even to protect me?” Zelda asked, motioning to the letter. She had read it so often she could recite it from memory now. All things considered, she was fairly proud that her voice did not waver.

Groose had no reply. Neither did Granté. The gardener just kept shaking his head incredulously, and the guard was pressing his lips together in a grim line.

A knock at the door made Zelda look up.

Aryll.

The poor girl looked like she hadn’t slept a wink, and Zelda knew exactly how she felt. She dismissed Groose and Granté, who were sent to a debriefing reminding them of what the words ‘liability’ and ‘secret’ truly meant, and instead offered Aryll a seat.

“I know you must be freaking out,” Aryll said, “but I  _ swear  _ this isn’t like him. Something else must be going on.”

There was a tremor in the girl’s voice. Zelda closed the door and turned to look at her, and softly voiced her growing fear. “Aryll, he left me a note. He’s gone.”

“He wouldn’t,” Aryll insisted, turning in her seat to fix her with a firm glare. “Link knows what abandonment feels like. He knows it better than anyone.” Her blue eyes were reddened by tiredness and worry. “When we were kids, he swore he would never leave me without telling me― he said I was like his sister― He  _ wouldn’t _ .”

“So he hasn’t contacted you,” Zelda murmured.

Aryll shook her head, blonde curls flapping a little against her cheeks. She had gotten a haircut just for the wedding. Officially, the ceremony was still on. Zelda was being pressured into producing a statement announcing the cancellation, but…

“Aryll,” she said, sinking into her chair. Her voice broke and she averted her gaze, blinking against the tears. “I’m… I’m doing everything I can to find him. I need answers, and I’d hoped maybe he had told you something... I… If I did something wrong…”

“He wouldn’t do this,” Aryll snarled at something unseen. “He’s crazy about you. And yes, he was afraid of what being royalty entailed. But he wouldn’t leave like this. Link is many things, but he’s not a coward.” She glanced around the office, then leaned forward towards her. “Could this be foul play?”

Zelda motioned to the letter. “I thought so too, but we can’t find any evidence, and… and I doubt he would pen a letter to me, and sign it, if―”

“ _ Please _ , anyone can forge a signature,” Aryll said, dismissively. “I got great at copying Link’s when he had me sign his fan phot— err, uh, what?”

Zelda frowned. “Link had you sign photos for him?”

“It was just the once,” Aryll said nervously. “And he made me promise not to tell you. It was back at the beginning, right after the ball, when he still thought you were going to wake up and tell him to get out. Honest.”

But Zelda wasn’t listening. Instead, her eyes were on Link’s familiar signature. She’d watched him write it so many times: on checks at dinner, on pictures held out to him by blushing fans, in the guestbooks of museums and hospitals and charitable foundations he’d toured by her side. The straight line of his capital L. The understated flourish of that capital F. By no means was it a complex signature, though. “You’re saying someone copied his signature.”

“I promise you Link wouldn’t have written this,” Aryll said, firmly. “He’s too dumb by half to sit down and write you some eloquent letter. He’d just try to talk about it and make a big blunder of everything.”

He  _ would  _ try to talk, Zelda agreed. Though Aryll’s assessment was a vehemently mean statement, she recognized the exasperation and sisterly love in it.

Did that mean someone was trying to separate them? If so...

“What do I do?” Zelda murmured. “If they don’t find him tomorrow, I’ll be the spurned royal. If they never find him, he…” She feared the worst. A bullet. A drowning. An unsolved abduction, haunting her for the rest of her life. She pressed the heel of her palms against her eyes, pushing, willing the fear away.

“It’s Link,” Aryll said. Her voice was hoarse. “If I know him, he’s fighting really, really hard to get back to you.”

A cold comfort. All she wanted was to curl up in his arms. Perhaps everyone was wrong, and he didn’t even want her anymore. The pain of that thought was… hard to describe. 

Or worse. He might be dead. And in the face of  _ that _ , she didn’t care if he was never hers, so long as… So long as she could see him again. Just once.

A cold shiver ran down her spine and Zelda tried not to break down.

“I’m sure the investigators are doing everything they can,” Aryll said, looking just as worried. “We have to let them do their job.”

She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Zelda shut her eyes, trying to find inner stillness.

If he did not want to be found, that was painful enough. She would confront him one last time, and deal with the pain later.

If he was hurt somewhere, or― no, if he was badly hurt, the rescue teams would find him. She had to believe that.

And if, gods forbid, someone had deliberately harmed him, prevented him from coming forward, to keep him off the throne, she would find that someone and she would become the vengeful fury that boiled inside.

But whatever happened, she would not give the Senate the satisfaction of folding. She had to keep hope in her heart.

“Will you be at the Temple tomorrow?” She asked, softly.

“I will,” Aryll said. “Along with all of Link’s commoner guests.”

Still more people who would witness her abandonment at the altar. But Zelda did not fear what people said. She couldn’t fear. She had… she had to be brave. Her people expected to see her,  _ needed  _ to see her. She would stand tall, she would wait, and she would withstand the pain until it was clear all hope was lost.

“Very well,” she said. “Then so will I.”

* * *

It was another long, horrible day, and one without any leads whatsoever. Nobody had seen anything untoward happen. Nobody could provide any sort of accurate timeline about Link’s whereabouts, not even the captain of the party yacht. There was nothing in the security footage to help. Zelda would know: she’d watched it herself. In the video, a miserable-looking Link could be seen getting drunker and drunker and drunker. He made a few trips into the bathroom: on the last round, he was helped along by a few friendly-looking partygoers. He stayed in the bathroom for a long, long time—either hiding or unconscious, Zelda thought with sympathy—and didn’t leave until the boat returned to shore. As he shuffled off the boat, he was hunched and miserable, his face obscured by his messy golden hair, a towel pulled over his slumped shoulders.

From there, he went into the hotel using a back route—probably avoiding attention— and packed his bags, then left through those same back doors, always hunched, his face always shadowed. And then, somehow, he seemed to vanish: there were no water taxi operators who could remember taking him anywhere, no cab drivers who had come forward with memories of driving him and his suitcases, no rental car agencies who had seen him. He hadn’t checked in to any hotels in the area. He hadn’t (as far as the Royal Guard could tell) leased any apartments. He’d simply disappeared, rather like smoke, leaving nothing behind except his panic button and that damned letter.

“But people don’t just disappear,” Zelda had said, aggrieved, to the head of the investigation. Lord Rusl was exquisitely capable, and if anyone could find Link, Zelda figured it was the older man.

“They don’t,” Lord Rusl agreed. His mouth was set in a firm, unhappy line. “Just because there’s no official records of his departure doesn’t mean that he didn’t leave  _ somehow _ , though. We’re exploring all angles.” He shook his head. “We’re going to get to the bottom of it.”

“Well, do so quickly,” Zelda said. “The wedding is the day after tomorrow.”

There was a light of something like pity in the guard’s eyes, but he merely nodded once, crisp and sure.

“Yes, Majesty.”

After that unhappy interview, Zelda had been at loose ends, unable to focus. There were so many things she should be doing right now. Why, at this moment they were supposed to be in the final rehearsal for the ceremony, and afterwards they’d been meant to have a reception, but now…

… but now it was looking like there wouldn’t even be a ceremony.

“He’ll be there,” Zelda told herself for the umpteenth time. She thought of all the people who had come into Castle Town at Link’s invitation, commoners who had traveled from afar to be at the wedding. Even if Link was going to abandon her, she thought with a pang, he would never abandon  _ them _ . “He’ll be there.”

Her council had been clamoring for answers, for action. They wanted to issue an official statement and cancel the wedding. The press certainly was clamouring for one. Zelda hadn’t been up to the task of talking with them, with anyone. Byrne, by way of apologizing for upsetting her the day before, had volunteered to speak to the council on her behalf. The readiness with which Zelda had agreed to let him speak in her place should have shamed her… but she couldn’t muster any emotions beyond a persistent, nagging worry that she was missing something.

Come to think of it, Byrne still hadn’t come back from that meeting. Happy to have something to do, Zelda went to find him, to see how it had gone. She strode through the halls of the palace’s parliamentary wing, which buzzed with an understated, frantic panic. People all but leapt out of her way as she passed by, the strides of her Hôvér heels echoing against the floor and walls like whip-cracks. 

Her council chamber was empty, as were the green and pink audience rooms. Feeling thoroughly out of sorts, Zelda made her way towards Chancellor Cole’s office. She’d grill him about how it went. Glad for the chance to vent her ire and worry on someone, she made a beeline. His secretary was out— in the bathroom, by all appearances. Zelda went past the woman’s desk and into the inner conference room. She’d nearly barged into the Chancellor’s office when she realized the door was slightly ajar, and voices were coming out from inside. She stepped back, out of the way, her ears perking as she realized that Byrne was within.

“—she’ll show up at the altar, Chancellor,” Byrne said. “She won’t call off the wedding. I’m certain of it.”

The Chancellor scoffed. “Sentimental fool.”

“Love makes fools of us all.” Byrne sounded subdued.

“Yes, it rather does, doesn’t it? Look at you. Look at all you’ve done for your queen. She’s never even noticed you, has she?”

Zelda’s jaw dropped open in surprise.

Byrne? Byrne loved her?

That was nonsense. Wasn’t it?

She stepped a little closer to the door.

“She’s everything to me.” Byrne sounded exhausted. “I would do anything for her. Even this.”

Cole’s voice was a sneer. “Apparently so.”

Zelda didn’t need to hear anything more. Feeling sick, her stomach in her mouth, she withdrew.

Byrne loved her. Byrne, of all people. How had she never noticed?

Guilt swirled in her. Guilt and self-loathing. Link had loved her, and it had broken him. Byrne loved her, and that love had led him to beg her enemies to allow her to marry a man that wasn’t him. 

Was her love poison? Would she destroy everyone who cared about her?

As she re-entered the front room of the office suite, mind whirling, she encountered Cole’s secretary, who was re-seating herself at the desk. The woman’s eyes were wide.

“Majesty,” she said, shocked. “Did you come to see the Chancellor?”

“I did,” Zelda said. “But he seems to be in a meeting with someone, so I’ll speak with him later.” Without waiting, she turned and fled.

* * *

He was so tired. His arms hurt so badly. His skin was aching, scorched by the sun. Even the cool night breeze could do nothing to soothe his pain.

He’d given up on standing a while back. He was kneeling in the belly of the boat, the salt water lapping against his calves and thighs. He blinked once, long and slow. Twice.

He needed to stay awake. He needed to keep paddling. But he could rest for just a moment, he supposed…

He pulled his paddle out of the water and laid it alongside him in the boat, where it bobbed gently against his leg. He rubbed at his eyes, exhausted.

“Zel...da…” he murmured, fighting the pull of exhaustion that dragged at him as steadily as an undertow. “Zel…”

His chin dipped forward against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** oh lord I don't want to oversell us, but we're bona fide geniuses  
**Lyx:** aaaahahahahahahahahahahahahaha this is such a disaster


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyx:** WE ARE SO CLOSE TO FINISHED ON THIS RIDICULOUS TRAINWRECK  
**CM:** WE ARE WRITING A MASTERPIECE

Her stomach was fluttering with nerves. She resisted the urge to wipe her sweating hands against the voluminous skirt of her wedding dress.

Today was the day. 

“Majesty? It’s time.”

Behind Zelda, Malon entered the bridal room. The assistant was dressed in a flowing blue dress, her red hair artfully curled and swept over one shoulder.

“You look very pretty, Malon,” Zelda said.

“As do you, Majesty.”

Zelda turned back to her reflection. Her dress was pure, unbroken white, from the traditional scoop-necked surcoat to the long, long train. It was unadorned with beadwork or embroidery of any sort. No lace. No little cloth rosettes. It was almost severe in its simplicity, but still. It was stunning.

And yet, somehow, Zelda felt like a walking wedding cake.

“Just missing these,” Malon said, stepping forward to hold out a pair of long gloves. Zelda drew them on carefully, then examined her reflection. Malon resettled Zelda’s massive veil over her sleek, tortured updo, which had been ornamented with a heavy golden crown, then handed her a massive bouquet of white roses flower.

“He’s waiting for you,” Malon said.

Zelda nodded, heartbeat hammering against the roof of her mouth. 

Here went nothing.

Organ music took up a distant echo, heavy and ponderous and vaguely sinister. Zelda had always hated organ music, but it was tradition, and she was having a traditional wedding, so organ music it was. The doors before her swung open and she was met with a sea of faces and a long, loooong aisle, carpeted in red, leading to the altar of the Temple of Time.

She took a deep breath and stepped out, heart thundering.

The walk seemed to take forever, the aisle stretching on and on and on. She kept her pace slow and dignified, just as she’d rehearsed. Step. Pause. Step. Pause. As she walked, a dozen wild thoughts whirled through her head, fragmented and chaotic.

So many people were watching. There were so many eyes on her. 

And then, suddenly, she was at the altar. A warm, large hand extended to her. Zelda took it and looked up.

Byrne smiled down at her, his eyes full of love and warmth and reassurance.

“You’re not Link,” Zelda said stupidly.

The organ music clattered to a halt. There was a murmur of surprise.

Zelda tried to jerk her hand away.

“You’re not Link,” she said again.

“Darling, what…?” Byrne asked. His grip was vice-tight on hers. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not him,” Zelda said, and now she was shouting. “You’re not Link. I won’t marry you. I won’t! I’m here to marry Link!”

“We’re getting married,” Byrne said. The kindness and concern in his eyes melted into determination. He held tight to Zelda’s hand and turned to the officiant. “Begin the ceremony. I will be King.”

“No!” Zelda shouted. As she struggled to get away from Byrne, she felt her veil wrapping around her, sliding around her neck, choking her. “I won’t! I won’t. I won’t!”

She sat up, gasping for air. She was in her own bed, in her own room, and her hair had gotten tangled around her. She clawed at it, sweating. When at last she was free, she flung off the covers and strode rapidly to the bathroom, where she leaned over the sink.

Her reflection, dimly lit by the predawn seeping through the windows, was truly haggard. She had deep dark circles under her eyes. Her brow was sticky with sweat. She looked as pale and bloodless as a hundred-year-old ghost.

“It was just a dream,” Zelda told her reflection, nausea churning in her stomach. She took a few long, deep, centering breaths. “Just a dream,” she repeated.

She turned on the water and cupped her hands under the flow, then brought it to her mouth and swished, then spat to get rid of the taste of fear. 

“You’re marrying Link tomorrow,” she told herself. “He’ll be there. Not Byrne. Link. And then he will be your king. King Link.” She cupped her hands again, watching the crystalline water pool between her palms, and splashed her face.

“Not King Byrne. King Link.”

* * *

_ “All hail King Byrne!” _

A shock of cold water against his face had him snorting out of his uneasy sleep, the memory finally rising to the surface of his addled mind. The cold water did not come close to the cold in his veins, though.

“Byrne,” Link grunted, a low, guttural groan. He said the words out loud, to give voice to the thoughts, as though speaking them made the truth more real. “That  _ bastard _ .”

Rage pulsed through him, hot and thick. He remembered: he’d gone to the bathroom, been sick, been unable to walk. A group of people had ‘helped him’... right out of his clothes and into these new ones. Then they’d dropped a wig on his head and toted him out of the bathroom and off the yacht, onto a little boat waiting in a blind spot. 

And then they’d pulled away, zipping off into the night, laughing and jeering and chanting, “All hail King Byrne.”

Byrne had done this. Byrne was behind this. Byrne was the reason he was bobbing on the waves, completely lost and dehydrated, separated from the love of his life, his future wife, and about to lose her forever.

Link’s blood was boiling. His pulse was throbbing in his ears. He’d trusted the damned man, had relied on him to get his words in order, had so foolishly pretended not to notice the man’s obvious love and devotion for Zelda―

Byrne would  _ pay _ .

The throbbing in his ears grew louder and louder, and Link realized it wasn’t his pulse he was hearing, but the chopping sound of a helicopter.

Blinking against the salt water that splashed when he sat up suddenly, he scanned the horizon desperately, seeking to locate the source of the sound. At last, he located it, cutting a slightly darker figure against the brightening sky.

“HEY,” he shouted, waving his paddle as the chopper soared by in the distant predawn. “HEY!”

Someone was looking for him. Someone was searching for him.

Maybe Zelda hadn’t given up on him after all. The thought surged inside him as surely as adrenaline, more electrifying than any voltfruit. He stood precariously in his tiny boat and began to wave his paddle in the air desperately.

“I’M OVER HERE,” he shouted, fruitless though it was. “OVER HERE! OI!  _ I’M RIGHT HERE _ !”

In the distance, the chopper turned, cruising away from Link. His heart sank.

“ _ NO _ ! OVER HERE!”

The throbbing grew more distant. The chopper became a speck.

Link resisted the urge to throw the paddle into the sea, hang his head and weep. Instead, he set his jaw and tightened his blistered, cracked grip on the handle.

They were looking for him. He might have missed that helicopter. But he wouldn’t miss the next one.

“I’m coming, Zelda,” he said.

* * *

Zelda was in her office, reviewing the latest reports on the search and trying not to hyperventilate, when Byrne knocked at the door.

Looking at him now, knowing what she knew from yesterday, felt… She averted her gaze. The secret knowledge of his feelings for her was haunting. How many times had she rubbed her joy, her love for Link, in his face? He’d taken it with such aplomb that she couldn’t help but feel guilty. Guilty… and awkward.

She didn’t think of Byrne as a potential lover. She’d known him too long, had always kept a respectful friendship… had wondered without the slightest inkling of jealousy what sort of woman he might one day choose. As one of Hyrule’s lords, he was entitled to her royal blessing once he chose someone. She had always known it would be a pleasure to grant it.

Now…

Now she wondered how she hadn’t seen it before. His eyes were gentle, tender, as he looked at her sitting at her desk. The doors to her dressing room were ajar, and through the embrasure they both could see the mannequin on which hung her wedding dress. His eyes went to her gown, then back to her, but he did not push the door further open.

“May I come in, your Majesty?”

She swallowed once, but nodded.

He entered, then shut the door to the office behind him, and stood straight, hesitating to step any further.

“Your Highness,” he said, and she realized he was nervous. It wasn’t a new thing to notice: everyone she encountered now was nervous. Nervous, or pitying. The search continued at full speed, but all anyone knew was that  _ someone  _ was presumed missing, perhaps lost at sea ― only the high echelons knew  _ who _ was missing, knew that the search was for the selfsame ‘missing consort’, as the press called Link. Thus the wedding preparations continued, and even now Zelda knew that there were people camping out in front of the Temple, hoping to be in a prime location to witness her brief exit from the royal carriage as she arrived, perhaps even to witness her discomfiture and spurning.

Her stomach was in knots. So at least, she and Byrne were of like minds.

“Yes, Byrne,” she murmured. “What is it?”

Once again Byrne’s eyes went to the wedding dress, through those double doors, then down to his hands, which he was wringing. He noticed what he was doing and stopped at once, forcing his hands to his sides.

“I… In light of recent events,” he finally said, “and in the spirit of saving you from further pain, I have an offer to make.”

_ King Byrne _ . The thought entered Zelda’s mind at the same time as memories of her nightmare, but she did not react, did not object, did not flinch when he stepped forward and kneeled by her chair, bowing his head reverently.

“ _ If _ ,” he started, insisting on the word, “your fiancé does not appear tomorrow at noon, as planned…”

_ ‘I will be King.’  _ The echo of Byrne in her nightmare was whispering in her ear.

She waited, not trusting herself to speak and not knowing what she would say if she did.

“Please,” he said, and Zelda averted her gaze, embarrassed by the fervour in his voice, “I beg your Highness to allow me to…”

“To step in,” she whispered.

“As replacement,” Byrne managed, relieved that she had completed his sentence. His eyes, when he lifted them, were full of hope. “How… how did you know?”

_ I always knew _ , a little voice inside Zelda’s mind whispered, but she stifled it. “Byrne, I do care for you, and I consider you a dear friend. But if you do this, you must know you would miss out on the opportunity to be loved as you deserve.”

His eyes were sad. “It would be enough to love you openly, for once.”

It would be a better deal for him than it would be for her. She was becoming convinced that being spurned had destroyed her interest in love altogether. But Byrne was a peer, and he was there for her, which was more than her fiancé could say at the moment, and…

And what did it matter if she didn’t love him? Hyrule needed a King, and she was fairly certain no Senator would object to prudent, plain, blue-blooded Byrne.

Her eyes prickled as she looked down at him. He must have taken the small motion as assent, because a smile bloomed across his face, and Zelda didn’t have the heart to correct him. She wasn’t even sure if she should. She wanted Link, wanted to be his wife more than anything.

But he’d vanished, and by all appearances he was never coming back. He’d left her. While Byrne... 

Zelda looked at her old friend again. The relief and love in his eyes hurt to look at. He pushed to his feet and seized her hand, holding it between his two paws like a confection of crystal. “Zelda,” he breathed, “you won’t regret marrying me. I will love you more every day than any man alive.”

She extricated her hand from his gently, although she wanted to throw herself out of the chair. “Byrne, my heart still belongs to Link. If he doesn’t show― if he isn’t there tomorrow at noon, then…”

Could she turn her back on Link? Could she marry Byrne in his place? Just the thought made her blood run cold, made her mouth fill with sour ash.

“If he doesn’t arrive,” Byrne said, “I won’t let you face the ridicule alone. I’ll be there for you. I’ll never abandon you like he has. Ever.”

Zelda inhaled shakily. It hurt, hearing that pledge from Byrne. Link had made her so many similar pledges in the past.

“I love him,” Zelda said. “Not you. He… he’s the one for me. I’m sure of it.”

Something flashed across Byrne’s face too quickly for Zelda to identify. Frustration? Well, he had a right to that, Zelda supposed. His expression shifted to sympathy, and he regarded Zelda with bittersweet fondness.

“I’ll be at the altar if he isn’t,” Byrne said kindly. “I promise, you won’t regret this.”

_ I regret it already, _ Zelda wanted to say. But Byrne wouldn’t hear her, she was sure. He’d just said he would be at the altar if Link wasn’t. And yet...

Even if Link truly  _ had _ abandoned her, she wouldn’t be alone.

A small, sickening part of her was relieved at that, that she wouldn’t have to face ridicule on her own. To hide her reaction she turned away. She heard Byrne getting to his feet a moment later.

“ I― I’ll leave you to it.” He was still smiling somewhat, and she knew what he was thinking: Link wouldn’t show. One last day of delay was nothing to him, in the face of a lifetime.

_ King Byrne _ . She felt a cold shiver run down her back.

* * *

Another day elapsed on the water, hellishly long and bright. Every bit of his body was burned and aching. His lips were dry and cracked with dehydration. He’d barely slept overnight. He was all out of palm fruit.

He needed a rescue. He refused to die out here.

Link was feverishly paddling in the direction he assumed was north when he heard the rotating blades of a helicopter once again.

In an exhausted haze, he looked up, searching for the source of sound. It was proper morning, and he was fairly certain that in the glare of the sun on the water, his little boat would stand out better. He stood in the boat ― which was beginning to take on more water than he liked ― and scanned the horizon.

He spotted the helicopter to the north, flying across towards the east, so he raised his paddles ― both of them ― and frantically began to wave them back and forth over his head, shouting hoarsely.

“ _ OOOOIII _ !” He bellowed. “OI, OVER HERE! I’M HERE!”

For a harrowing moment, the helicopter seemed to continue apace, completely heedless.

But then there was a glint of sunlight off the cockpit, and Link watched with explosive relief as the cell turned towards him.

“YES!” He shouted, waving with more excitement still. “ _ YES _ ! HERE! I’M HERE!” Then, because the joy was overwhelming, “ _ WOOOOO _ !  _ YES _ !!! YES! YOU MAGNIFICENT, RESPLENDENT BASTARDS!  _ FUCK _ !”

The last bit was due to his foot breaking through the bottom of the boat and dangling in the water. He pulled it out of the hole and watched as the Red Lion began to list somewhat.

“Fuckshitfuckshitfuckshit no―”

The helicopter arrived overhead, deafening, pushing wind downward that did little to help with the seaworthiness of his contraption. Link watched as the palm fruits began to bob in earnest, some beginning to drift away.

“Shit―” He looked up, watching as a coil of rope ladder got shoved to the door and tumbled downward. It ended just a little bit too high for him to reach. His paddles were gone, thrown into the water. His boat was sinking. He pushed himself on the edge, hoping to jump up, when he fell into the water.

When he emerged at the surface, gasping, he pushed hair out of his face and cast about desperately. His boat was gone, leaving behind floating palm fruit and one paddle. He couldn’t see the other one. The ladder was still too high to reach, and between striving to stay afloat and the confusion in his dehydrated mind, he couldn’t muster the strength to shout that he was unable to reach it.

But the helicopter was already reacting. It lowered itself, and the ladder touched the sea a few dozen strokes away. Now filled with the adrenaline of desperation, Link made it in what felt like an eternity, but might have only been a few seconds.

He seized the rope ladder as one grabs on to a ledge, and swung his feet into the lowest rung, entangling himself in the water. Nothing, he determined, was going to rip him away from this blasted thing now that he’d reached it.

“I’m just a fucking gardener,” he muttered to himself as he pulled himself up a few rungs, finally out of the water. When had life taken such a turn?

Link blinked against the sunlight, looking up. There were several yards of distance he had to climb, and there was no way the helicopter would stay steady like this for much longer.

With the last of his energy, he pushed himself upward, one foot through one wobbly, flimsy rung at a time, wishing he and Zelda had picked somewhere inland for their honeymoon.

He pulled himself through the open helicopter door, dragged himself to the middle of the cell floor, and sprawled out, exhausted.

“ _ Well, don’t just lay there, get the ladder back up _ !”

Link blinked his eyes open, frowning in confusion. He looked towards the voice, spotting a single man ― thin, with dark circles under his eyes, and the unmistakable swollen red nose of someone who drank more than he should ― and realized he was the pilot… and the only other person aboard.

So this wasn’t a proper rescue helicopter? Link glanced about and realized that, whatever this flight apparatus was, it had seen better days. He pushed himself to a sitting position with a groan and reached for the ladder, pulling it up, rung by rung, feeling his muscles scream and ache with irritation. He had built a boat by hand, paddled day and night for two days, then pulled himself up the equivalent of two stories on a rope ladder, and this was honestly more than he was willing to put up with.

But then again, one did not argue with his rescuers. Or rescuer, singular.

When the rope ladder was coiled back up, he pushed the door shut, and fell back onto his ass, ready to pass out. The helicopter vibrated numbly under him, and he felt it lurch forward again.

Better find out what was going on…

He dragged himself to the empty passenger seat next to the pilot and accepted a helmet that muffled the sound around them.

“Hi, stranger,” the amplified voice of his pilot said. Link reached out to slap the man’s shoulder in mute gratitude. “You were lookin’ a little lost.”

“I was a little lost,” Link replied. “Were you not looking for me?”

The man shrugged. “There’s been search operations lately. I volunteered to help. Said we were looking for a single man in his twenties?”

Link huffed out, the only sign of laughter he could still muster. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Hah!” The pilot shouted. “Oh, that’s great. Linebeck XIVth, by the way. And I’m the one who fucking found the guy. Oh, that’s gonna piss off the guys at the Flight Deck― Old Oshus fucking said I was lucky to keep coming back in my ‘rickety old piece of crap’, well guess who’s going to fucking eat his fucking moustache now, huh, Oshus?”

“Sure,” Link said, examining the cockpit around him. Rickety old piece of crap sounded about right. There were switches that had broken off and been replaced with little pegs of… were those chess pawns? “Uh, so, are you going to call this in?” He needed them to warn Zelda he was fine. “Also, what day is it?”

“Saturday,” Linebeck the XIVth said cheerfully. “The…” He leaned over, checking a paper calendar depicting a busty maid that hung behind Link’s seat, “The twelfth.”

Saturday the  _ twelfth _ ? Link’s stomach rolled over and he was certain he’d be sick all over Linebeck’s broken dashboard. “Oh, no.”

The wedding. The wedding was today. It was today, hours away in time, hours away geographically― gods, he was going to miss his own wedding.

“I need to call ahead!” He said. “How does your radio work?”

“My radio?” Linebeck said, and Link could hear the frown in his voice. “Fuck, my radio hasn’t worked since before the old king died.” He raised a finger and pointed it accusingly at Link. “But it’s not an issue, alright? You better not start with this whole regulations thing, you hear me? My baby is as airworthy as any other slick chromy doodad they pour out of factories today, I’ll have you know, and the radio doesn’t need to be operational for the fucking rotors to work.”

“What?” Link shouted. “I don’t care about your flying death trap and its legal status! My future wife is standing at the altar right now and I can’t even tell her I’m on my way!”

“Oh, so the HH Linebeck’s legal status doesn’t matter, but  _ your  _ legal status, oh, that’s so much more important!”

“Listen,” Link said, leaning across the sticks and controls between their seats, “Linebeck. I need to make it back to the Temple of Time in Castle Town, because if I don’t, I may lose the love of my life forever.”

Now Linebeck was scoffing. “The Temple of Time? Fuck, dude, are you high? Everyone knows that place is reserved today on account of the Queen getting married.”

Link grabbed the man’s shirt. It had a pattern of palm trees and pineapples. “To  _ me _ .  _ She’s getting married to  _ me _ , you dense fuck. _ ”

Linebeck looked at him properly now, and through the darkened visor of his helmet, Link saw the understanding and recognition dawn on his face. “Holy shit.” Then, with more emphasis, “Holy  _ shit _ !  _ You’re  _ the royal consort?  _ You’re the guy we’ve been looking for _ ?” He slapped his own forehead through the helmet. “Fuck, no wonder the rewards for volunteers were so high! Dude, I owe you one! With that money I can finally buy some really sexy decals for the HH Linebeck!”

“Your priority should probably be the radio,” Link started, before shaking himself back to sanity. “Ugh, whatever,  _ listen _ . I need to talk to someone who can talk to the Queen. I need to explain what happened.”

“Sounds good to me,” Linebeck said.

“Like… right  _ now _ .”

“Hell, dude,” Linebeck said. “I’m not letting somebody else get the fucking spotlight. Strap in.”

“Strap in?” Link echoed, dumbly.

Linebeck applied further pressure to his flight stick and the helicopter lurched forward terrifyingly. “I’m taking you there myself. Castle Town, here we come!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** Your helicopter idea is great. I had a fucking blast writing Linebeck.  
**Lyx:** It’s all in service to our finale. FUCKING STRAP IN


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** Have I mentioned how much I love that scene where Aragorn enters the hall at Helm’s Deep, pushing the doors aside and looking all ragged and shit?  
**Lyx:** Shrek did it too.  
**Lyx:** And like a million other movies.  
**CM:** NO, WE’RE PIONEERS  
**Lyx:** LALAALALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU

The last day before Zelda’s wedding flew by, at once whiplash-fast and achingly slow. Everyone asked her again and again if she was sure, if she wanted to postpone, if she wanted to call it off.

She still had faith, she told them. Link would come.

Privately, Zelda was beginning to have her doubts. But in the face of Aryll’s steadfast, unwavering belief, what could she do? All through that last, fruitless day, she warred with herself, angry and heartbroken in turn, wondering what she could have—should have—done differently to keep this from happening.

Unsurprisingly, she slept poorly, tossing and turning. It didn’t help that she woke up to check her phone every few minutes for messages. But no updates came through, and when her alarm went off at five in the morning, she was already awake, staring at the ceiling, dreading the long process of getting ready for her noon wedding.

Now, several hours later, Zelda was perfectly coiffed, buffed, painted, and laced. And she felt like a wreck. 

“Majesty?” Malon poked her head into Zelda’s dressing room. There were dark circles under the publicist’s eyes, and she looked pale and shaky.

“Any word?” Zelda asked.

Malon shook her head once, light catching off her crystal drop earrings.

Zelda turned back to look at the clock.

11:44.

“I need more time.”

“We can’t delay,” Malon said. “You know that. The logistics in town… the parade, the security… Should I call it off?”

Zelda resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. A gentle touch landed on her shoulder. She looked up to see Aryll standing above her, looking worried and wan despite the resplendent bridesmaid’s dress she wore.

“He’ll be here,” Aryll reaffirmed.

“He’d better be. I wouldn’t wear cream lace for just anyone.” Midna was lounging, but even her attempts at untroubled grace were lackluster. There was a tiny, tiny worry line between her eyebrows. Zelda didn’t remark on it. If she did, the Countess would throw a fit about the quality of her plastic surgeon. “Toddle along, Malon, do,” the Countess said with a lazy wave of her hand. “He’ll be here.”

“Majesty?”

The woman’s blue eyes flitted to Zelda’s for confirmation.

“I’m not calling it off, Malon,” Zelda said. “He’ll be here.”

Malon nodded once.

“I’ll tell them to begin the processional shortly,” she said. 

Zelda nodded once, mouth dry, and the publicist left the room.

“Chin up, dear,” Midna told Zelda. “This is Link—the most reliable, frustratingly loyal man in existence. He’d follow you anywhere, even through time itself if you asked him to. He’ll be here.”

“I hope so. If he’s not…”

She trailed off. She’d told them about Byrne’s offer, which Midna had scoffed at and called ‘shameless opportunism.’ 

“He’ll be here,” Midna said again, firmly. “Now come stand in front of this mirror here so that Aryll and I can pin your veil.”

Numbly, Zelda obeyed, and surveyed her reflection in the massive, circular mirror. She wore the same beautiful wedding dress from the night before, all unbroken white and simple lines, cut to fit her form perfectly. She watched as Midna and Aryll flittered around behind her, carefully affixing her massive lace veil to her elegant updo, and pinning it in place below the crown.

“Your mother would have been thrilled you were wearing this,” Midna said, rubbing the fine lace of the late queen’s veil between her fingers.

“I wish she was here,” Zelda said, subdued. “I wish they both were here. They’d know what to do.”

“You know what to do,” Midna responded. She met Zelda’s eyes in the mirror, pausing in her work. Aryll took over, seamlessly settling the tiara atop Zelda’s head. “And what you need to do is marry the handsomest, stubbornest gardener in existence.”

“Yes,” Zelda croaked around a lump in her throat. “That rather is the plan, isn’t it?”

They subsided into silence—after all, what else was there to say, really? The two bridesmaids finished affixing Zelda’s veil, then passed her her gloves. As Zelda drew them on, she checked the clock.

11:59.

She took a centering breath in, then out, then in again, and prayed for Link, for salvation, for the power to stop time. She shut her eyes.

_ Link,  _ she called silently.  _ Where are you? _

The muffled sound of organ music trickled into her awareness. She opened her eyes and looked at the clock.

12:00.

“It’s time,” Midna murmured. The door opened, and Zelda looked up, heart leaping to her mouth. But it was just Malon, looking as though she were about to cry. At Zelda’s expectant look, she shook her head.

Link hadn’t come.

Zelda took another bracing breath.

“There’s still time,” she murmured as the first notes of the Oath to Order sounded. “There’s still time.”

Outside, a murmur of surprise sounded.

“Was that—” Zelda asked, hope surging in her again. Malon peered out.

“That was everyone reacting to Lord Byrne,” the publicist said. “He’s taken Link’s place at the altar. Majesty… Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

No, Zelda wanted to scream. But instead, she nodded decisively.

“I am,” she said. “Link will show up. I’m certain of it.”

Malon looked as though she wanted to question her queen’s sanity for a moment, but then withheld.

“Very well,” she said. “Line up then, please, Countess and Miss Aryll. It’s almost time for the processional. Here,” she added, handing Zelda her bouquet of fragrant white roses. “Get ready, Majesty. It’s time.”

* * *

Beneath the helicopter, the countryside was melting into suburbs as they reached the outermost edges of Castletown. But Link’s eyes weren’t on the landscape. They were on the sky immediately surrounding him.

“Linebeck,” Link said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice, “why are we being flanked by jets?”

“They’ve scrambled out for us. Castle Town’s restricted airspace,” Linebeck said cheerfully. “Especially right now, what with the big shindig and all.”

Link shut his eyes and prayed for patience. He was so close—so close—to making it to the wedding, and now he was going to get shot out of the sky.

Link opened his eyes and glanced at the clock.

12:01.

“Fuck!” he shouted, banging his hands against the dashboard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! The wedding’s started and we’ve still got miles to go!”

“.... huh,” Linebeck said after a moment. “You fixed the radio.”

“My soulmate is waiting for me at the altar and you all care about is the— wait,  _ I fixed the radio _ ?!”

But the old pilot wasn’t listening. Instead, he’d pressed a button.

“Hey, guys. My name is Linebeck and I’ve got Link whatsisface—you know, the royal consort— here. I’m taking him directly to the Temple.”

There was a crackle and a question that Link couldn’t understand— apparently, the radio only worked well in Linebeck’s helmet.

“Understood,” Linebeck said. And then, “I mean, you can, but I’m still taking him there.” He frowned in the sunlight. “You can check my credentials when I land safely in the square… I guess I can talk to the CFA, but I’m still taking him―” He inhaled, paused, scowled, then turned to Link with irritation. “They’ve got a code phrase to identify you, I― Just one sec, fuck, I’m asking him, give me a damn minute ―” He frowned, listening to a voice Link couldn’t hear. Then, confusedly, “What flower did you compare your fiancée’s dress to, the first time you escorted her to dinner?”

Link blinked, for a moment unable to register the words. Then, the memory flooded him as starkly as the sunlight: Zelda as she had been in those early Midwinter days, smoothing her hands on her silk skirts, and the soft violet― “A lupinus,” he breathed, amazed that he could remember at all, and strangely touched that Zelda had thought of such a sweet memory as a verification.

Linebeck repeated the answer into the radio. Link waited expectantly, but then Linebeck turned to look at him.

“They’ve gone silent.”

Link waited for more, but nothing came. “What? What does that mean, they’ve gone silent?”

“Maybe they’re checking.”

“Or maybe they’re getting ready to shoot us down!” Had he answered wrong? Fuck―

And then, with a thrum of engines, the military aircraft surrounding them changed course, spreading out into the sky, and then climbed back to their cruising altitudes. Linebeck cheered and punched the air. “Shit, kid! We’ve got ourselves a proper flight corridor!” With a toothy grin, he said, “I haven’t had an assigned flight corridor since my radio went out!” He paused, apparently as the city’s flight authorities chattered at him. “Yeah, I know, I can hold course.  _ Gods _ .”

Was flying without a flight corridor over a large city even legal? It was a miracle Linebeck hadn’t been arrested yet.“What about Zelda?” Link asked urgently. “What about the queen? Can they get word to her?”

“Lemme ask,” Linebeck said.

The pilot mumbled into his microphone, then listened for a moment.

“They said the wedding’s started,” Linebeck told Link, who felt his gut sink. Seeing his expression, his rescuer grew more determined. “Hang on, kid. We’re going full throttle.”

Link held on to his seat. “Can this flying bucket of bolts  _ do _ full throttle?”

“One, fuck you. And two, there’s only one way to find out!”

* * *

He hadn’t come.

Zelda walked slowly up the aisle, blinking tears out of her eyes, glad for the obscuring lace of her mother’s wedding veil. Link hadn’t come.

He’d abandoned her.

She tightened her grip on the rose bouquet, wishing that the stems hadn’t been de-thorned. She’d welcome the centering prickle of pain on her palms right now. But there was nothing to ground her, no pain to reassure her that this long, horrible walk wasn’t another nightmare.

She’d reached the end of the aisle, and just like in her dream, Byrne’s tanned hand extended to take hers. His hand was nothing like Link’s: soft, long-nailed, his nail beds free of dirt.

For some reason, some very odd reason, Zelda decided she hated Byrne’s hands.

“You look beautiful,” he told her.

Zelda wanted to tell him not to touch her, wanted to scream at him to step away. But instead she held her head high as she passed off her flowers to Midna. Byrne lifted Zelda’s veil and smiled tenderly at her.

“Everything will be alright,” he promised her in a nearly-inaudible undertone as the organ belched its way to the end of the wedding processional. “You’ll see.”

The last notes sounded, ringing and echoing in the cavernous space. Zelda resisted the urge to look out over the confused crowd.

Link hadn’t shown.

Link didn’t want her.

Link had abandoned her.

“Please be seated,” said the archbishop. There was a great, groaning whisper as everyone sank back into their seats, shifting with confusion.

“Dearly beloved,” said the archbishop into the silence once everyone had settled, “We are gathered here today to witness the joyous union of our Queen to the man of her choosing. Their love has been a pleasure to watch these past… ahh...” The old man paused, trailing off as he realized that his prepared sermon wouldn’t cut it now that a complete stranger had stepped up to take Link’s place.

The crowd shifted, its confusion nearly audible. Nearby, somebody coughed. There were a few nervous giggles.

“Just skip to the vows,” Byrne whispered to the archbishop.

“Let us pray,” the archbishop said with some desperation. He folded his hands together and the congregation bowed their heads. Zelda did too.

“Golden Lady, Shining Three,” he began, “we ask for your blessings upon this union. May your favor descend upon our Queen and her King…”

There was something happening outside. Something loud. The archbishop raised his voice to be heard over the weird, thudding echoes.

“May your wisdom fill their heads, courage fill their hearts, and power animate their souls with lively good. May their reign be wise and just. And now, the vows.”

* * *

As soon as the helicopter touched down, Link leapt out, heedless of his bare feet. He tripped a bit, righted himself, and charged up the steps to the temple.

Malon stood at the doors, gaping.

“Link?” She shrieked over the whomp-whomp-whomp of the chopper’s blades. “What happened to you? You can’t go in there looking like that!”

“Like hell I can’t,” he said. “Get out of the way, Malon.”

Wordlessly, the publicist stepped aside.

* * *

Byrne watched Zelda expectantly. The wrongness of it all was overwhelming. It was like being trapped in the worst nightmare she’d ever had.

“Majesty, repeat after me,” said the archbishop, heedless of Zelda’s turmoil. “I, Queen Zel—”

As though the loud noises outside had broken some sort of spell, Zelda knew now what she had to do.

“I won’t marry him,” Zelda erupted, cutting off the old man.

Everyone gasped.

“I won’t marry you,” Zelda repeated to Byrne. “I won’t.”

“Zelda,” Byrne pleaded. “Please. He abandoned you.”

“I don’t care,” Zelda said defiantly. “I love him. Not you. I want to marry him. Not you. I won’t marry you.”

He looked heartbroken for a moment, then angry. His grip tightened on her hand as he turned to the bishop.

“You’re not thinking straight,” Byrne said. “You’re just nervous. Just heartbroken. You’ll see. In time, you’ll love me. Say we’re man and wife,” he added to the archbishop.

“I…” the archbishop paused and looked between Byrne and Zelda. “Majesty, this is most untoward…”

“Just marry us, old man!”

Byrne’s sudden roar echoed around the church, which was resounding with thudding noise, and the congregation all jumped and gasped. Zelda tried to tug her hand from his grip but he wouldn’t release it.

“I won’t marry you,” Zelda repeated angrily, trying to tug her hand away. “Let me go. Byrne, you’re hurting me! Let me go!”

As she struggled, the doors of the temple slammed open and light flooded in. Zelda squinted against the sudden sunshine. The roaring noise came from a rickety old helicopter that had parked directly outside the Temple of Time… and there… 

There in the door, wearing the most hideous T-shirt and swim trunks she’d ever seen, badly sunburned, barefoot, and sporting a scraggly beard several days old… There stood Link, fury in his eyes, chest heaving with rage as he glared at Byrne, who was gaping back with absolute shock.

“Get your FUCKING hands off my fiancée, you piece of shit!”

* * *

Midna was cackling at something on her phone. Malon was also on her phone, though she was more subdued in her smiling. Aryll was on her phone, texting so furiously fast that Zelda wondered how her fingers were touching the screen at all. Groose and Granté were both on  _ their  _ phones, laughing loudly.

The eighteen journalists in row twelve were on their phones, squawking excitedly. Every commoner on Link’s side of the aisle were on their phones, though their phones were lifted in the air, recording everything minute by minute, and the national broadcast cameras were trained on her with the same intensity. The Senators and elected officials were all on their phones, though to their credit they were doing their best to hide it. Zelda watched Cole blanch a little, and she assumed he had just received an emergency update on his approval ratings.

When Link re-emerged from the wings with the bishop in tow and fourteen cops escorting him, he looked… less disheveled. Someone had retrieved his groom’s suit, so although he still looked badly sunburnt and dehydrated and wild-haired, he at least was wearing more appropriate attire for the venue.

Rusl approached her to whisper: “He’s fine. We need to get him to a hospital for mild dehydration and I think he broke a finger when he punched Lord Byrne, but he’ll be fine. Would you like to accompany him―”

“No,” Link said, as the cameras continued to capture every second of the day’s ridiculous unraveling. “Zelda― I need to talk to you.”

There was a mix of hushing sounds and excited emoting from the assembly. Zelda had long since removed her veil and was sitting in one of the pews behind the altar, as patiently and confusedly as she could. Her security detail had not been willing to compromise.

Link kneeled at her side. “I don’t trust anyone right now. If we don’t get married, they’ll try to stop us again.”

How could she have doubted him? She ran a hand over his cheek softly, feeling his beard, and Link realized what he looked like.

He lowered his gaze. “This isn’t what you wanted,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful, and I…” He felt at his chin, his cheeks. “I― If you’ve changed your mind…”

“Bishop, marry us this instant,” Zelda said, her voice rising over the expectant whisperings of the crowd. Then, with a patient, queenly smile at their officiant, she added, “Quickly, please. Your future King requires medical care.”

There was a roar of approval, both inside the Temple, and outside, faintly, where the entire affair was still being streamed live. Link’s eyes brightened, painful hope dawning in them, and Zelda held back a wave of tears.

‘I love you,’ he mouthed, and Zelda wondered why he bothered keeping his voice down when so many cameras were already capturing the images. An appropriate ‘aww’ spread through the assembly. Still, she reached for his hand and squeezed.

They stood together. Despite the scraggliness of his appearance, as Link straightened, Zelda thought he had never looked as kingly as he did then.

“What happened?” She murmured as they went to stand in front of the altar.

“I made a boat.”

“What?”

“Ahem. We stand here today―” the officiant interrupted, forcing both Link and Zelda to turn to him like chastised schoolchildren, “―to celebrate the union of Zelda Harkinian Bosphoramus, Queen of Hyrule, and Link Forester of Hyrule, as they prepare to undertake a lifetime’s journey of love, support, and marital duty.”

Zelda saw the officiant leaf through a few pages of the ceremonial. Religious readings were skipped, as were songs and prayers. At last he reached the last page, and looked at them both expectantly. “Are you sure?”

“I ate nothing but palm fruit for three days, rowed for two days and punched a lord in the mouth to do this,” Link flatly said. “I’m sure.”

“I think he means, are we sure we want to skip the entire thing and go straight for the vows,” Zelda said. Then, turning to frown at him, “Wait, you’re serious about this boat thing?”

“Of course I am. I’m in pretty good shape, but I wasn’t gonna make it by swimming.”

“I am going to murder Byrne,” Zelda vowed adamantly.

The bishop cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, we are in a holy place. Swearing violence upon one of the goddesses’ children―”

“I am the spiritual head of the Temple,” Zelda reminded him. “And he’ll be lucky to make it out of jail before he’s sixty.”

“Look,” Link said, “I mean it. Zelda, I love you. I want to marry you and be yours.” He grabbed the ring from where it sat, forgotten, on the altar, and slipped it on her finger. His own hands were mangled by toil, with an unhealthy tan, and there was the swelling around his index―

The ring settled on her knuckle and Link looked at her expectantly.

She plucked his ring from the altar in turn, and put it on his finger. “I love you,” she murmured. “And if this is what it takes to make sure you don’t vanish again―”

“Not on purpose.”

“By any purpose,” she insisted. “My heart is yours.”

The bishop looked at his documents, then said, “I… I think we just need your signatures, then.”

“Great,” Link said, gingerly lifting the pen from the registry. “Because I’m starting to get woozy. Do you think we can have some takeout brought to the hospital?”

“We’ll get you a family-sized meal.”

He handed her the pen so she could sign her own name. “Don’t make me drool, it’ll be unsightly on national television.”

There was a rumble of low chuckles in the assembly, and Zelda realized belatedly that the boom microphones were still hovering overhead. She winced, and the entire audience, indoor and outside, laughed heartily.

“We’ll get a redo for the vow renewal,” Link shrugged. Then, to the bishop, who was having Aryll and Midna sign as witnesses, he said, “Can I kiss her now?”

The bishop signed his own name on the bottom line of the registry, then placed his pen down and said, “Yes.”

And Zelda was engulfed in an embrace and a kiss that rocked down to her toes, then back up her spine. The roaring in her ears barely matched the roaring of the crowds.

All in all, she decided, her wedding had turned out perfectly.

* * *

Much, much later that evening, they snuggled together in their bedroom, finally able to take a moment to breathe. Medical equipment had been brought in and pushed against one wall, and even though they were blessedly alone (except for the guards posted outside every door and window), Link was still hooked up to a drip. Not that they let that get in the way: they laid together in their bed, arms around each other, admiring the glint of their wedding rings in the dim light. 

“I can’t believe you made a boat,” Zelda said for what felt like the hundredth time, shaking her head. “A  _ boat _ .”

“Well, I wasn’t going to wait around for rescue,” Link said, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles of the fourth finger on her left hand. “Nothing was going to keep me from you. Nothing will  _ ever _ keep me from you. I promise.”

They exchanged a slow, lingering kiss. When they pulled apart, Zelda sighed with happiness and nestled under Link’s chin.

“Midna told me that all of the television network heads have gone into cardiac arrest from glee,” she related, a chuckle in her voice. “The news cycle is going wild about your abduction, our wedding, and all of Byrne’s spying and leaking. I can’t believe he’d planned out the whole conspiracy with Cole in advance. Not to mention that Hilda was crowing live on TV about how you’d run away instead of confronting me ‘like a man.’ When you showed up in that helicopter, then punched Byrne, she was actually speechless for a solid thirty seconds. And then the communiqués that were found linking her to Cole, who suggested she write the book in the first place... ” Zelda made a low noise of satisfaction. “They’ve all been totally discredited. You’ll be crowned for sure now. Just think, Link. If everyone thought my parents’ love story made a good movie, wait until they get ahold of ours. I think every network is going to be making their own version. We’ll probably see thirty different Midwinter specials.”

“As long as the royalties from the films go to good causes, I don’t mind,” Link rumbled. “And speaking of good causes, I have a request. You can even think of it as a wedding gift if you want.”

“Oh?” Zelda turned and pushed herself up on an elbow, mindful of Link’s drip, and looked at him through the curtain of her hair. It was still kinked and coiled from being knotted in the day’s intricate style. Link seemed to like it, though, judging by the way he kept running his fingers through the thick blond curls. “What is that?”

“I’d like to give Mr. Linebeck a knighthood.”

Zelda scrunched up her nose. She hadn’t met the dubious pilot—he’d hopped into his helicopter and zoomed off while everyone was distracted by the events in the Temple—but from Link’s story he sounded… Colorful.

To put it lightly.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Zelda confessed. “Didn’t you say he was odious?”

“In the extreme.” Link chuckled. “I’ll wager he’s gone into hiding because the flight authorities are going to force him to upgrade his helicopter. Which they absolutely should,” he added, shuddering. “The thing is a death trap.”

“So you want to bait him out with a title?”

“Well, yeah,” Link said. “Also, there’s the whole saving my life and going above and beyond the call of duty, or whatever.” He reached up with a hand and caught a curl that brushed against her cheek, and she found herself smiling down into his eyes.

She would give him anything he wanted. She would give him all of herself, always, and she knew he would do the same for her, day in and day out for the rest of their lives.

It was going to be wonderful.

“Sir Linebeck it is,” she agreed, and lowered her mouth to his. “Your majesty,” she added, nipping playfully at his lower lip. She kissed him softly.

Link smiled and met her kiss with his own, his lips soft and lingering against her own.

“Thank you,” he said. “My wife.”

It was going to be a wonderful life indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyx:** What if we did a collab every year?  
**CM:** What, like with a new set of tropes every time?  
**Lyx:** Sure.  
**CM:** I mean, you know my love for you is unwaning and eternal, so... yeah. I’m up for it.  
**Lyx:** We don’t have to keep doing _Midwinter_ stuff. It could be a new thing next time.  
**CM:** Yeah, I wasn’t gonna suggest _An Heir for Halloween_ or whatever.  
**Lyx:** …  
**CM:** ...  
**Lyx:** _ALTHOUGH_…  
**CM:** _No_, no way. If we do All Hallows’ Eve it’s gotta be a fresh thing. Plus I’m pretty sure that would require a rating warning.  
**Lyx:** Fine, fine.  
**CM:** This is some _48 Jump Street_ level stuff, you realize.  
**Lyx:** I’m sorry, am I hearing a complaint  
**CM:** No ma’am  
**Lyx:** Okay, get back to your actual serious writing.  
**CM:** No bby y u gotta hurt me dis way  
**Lyx:** Bitch it’s coz I love you  
**CM:** BITCH SAME


End file.
